He had
written it down at last, but it made no difference. The therapy had not worked. The urge to shout filthy words at the top
of his voice was as strong as ever

reading books makes me sleepy, i don't even know when my eye shuts off and suddenly i dream of the same setting i was reading about, from the pov of the narrator living in the fiction.

@

Emotional intelligence is realizing that reality exists beyond how you feel about it, and being able to separate your feelings from actuality.

@

god forbid a man kills people

I'm slightly self-conscious and then suddenly irritated and annoyed—it feels similar, but no, not quite like that, somehow even more unbearable. Sort of like opening a box, only to find another box inside, so you open that smaller box and again there's another box inside, and you open it, and one after another there are smaller boxes inside each other, so you keep opening them, seven or eight of them, until finally what's left is a tiny box the size of a small die, so you gently pry it open to find... nothing, it's empty—more like that feeling.
-Schoolgirl (Osamu Dazai)