#tin

I had to sever my emotional cord to escape the anger and shame that silently slithered through my head, disconnecting myself from the stares and whispers that followed me down the hall. ↗

— Rebecca Donovan

#disconnecting #emma #emotional #escape #feelings

But no: he was empty, he was confronted by a vast anger, a desperate anger, he saw it and could almost have touched it. But it was inert - if it were to live and find expression and suffer, he must lend it his own body. It was other people's anger. "Swine!" He clenched his fists, he strode along, but nothing came, the anger remained external to himself. ↗

— Jean-Paul Sartre

#emptiness #philosophy #age

...with white dawns and glaring moons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. ↗

— Natalie Babbitt

#tuck-everlasting #beauty

Let it out. That is the first step. All the anger and fear and sadness. I'll be here to pick up the pieces. ↗

— Shikikazu

#anger

A lot of my audience are in their 50s. But they want me to pretend to continue to be pretending. ↗

— Patti Smith

#continue #lot #me #pretend #pretending

I became an adult in an extreme way. I was recently sorting some old photographs and I found another. ↗

— Robert Smith

#another #became #extreme #found #i

He was miles past middle age with a gut that housed ample good meals. A patch of silver hair formed a trail from his forehead to the crown of his head where it dead ended with male pattern baldness. A sea of family photos took up residence on his desk. He sat back in a high-back leather swivel chair. Steepled hands. Robert Last Boots in Cognac Cordovan. Blue collar city worker with prestigious white collar dreams. ↗

— Brandi L. Bates

#age

.. they look like they've escaped from a nursing home. Everywhere I turn I see puffy skin & radiant expressions, crinkles & pearls, broad smiles & high hair... Collectively they all lean forward, like bamboo in the wind. Their postures may be cruelled by age but their excitement is adolescent. Cackling & wheezing with laughter the elderly hordes squeeze into the waiting vans & shuffle about... ↗

— Tim Latham

#age

Most of us have small, sad places somewhere in our hearts and my father was no exception. Sometimes we let our feelings escape in bursts of anger. Sometimes we make long, dismal faces. My father did neither. He felt deeply but he kept his feelings to himself. Or rather, being a writer, he let them escape in his writing. But even here he disguised them, unable even in fiction to allow himself to take himself too seriously. ↗

— Christopher Milne

#anger

And why should any man who writes, even if he writes things immortal, nurse anger at the world's neglect? Who asked him to publish? Who promised him a hearing? Who has broken faith with him? Your poem, your novel, who bargained with you for it? ↗

— George R. Gissing

#anger