التخلف مرض يصيب كل جسد . ولكننا لا نهتم فقط إلا بعلاج الاوبئة التي يمكن للطب أن يراها . وحتي تحققوا لأرواحكم توازنها النفسي حاولون الهرب من القهر لا إقتلاعه من جذوره

احذر ان تبني عمرك في العيش على أطلال مجد ، دون أن تبني ليومك ، من يعيشون الماضي ليسوا مؤهلين لصراعات الحاضر

I was in the book, and the book was in my head, and as long as I stayed inside my head, I could go on writing the book. It was like living in a padded cell, but of all the lives I could have lived at that moment, it was the only one that made sense to me. I wasn't capable of being in the world, and I knew that if I tried to go back into it before I was ready, I would be crushed.

I lost my bounty, my landlord is going to come screaming for his money again tomorrow morning, I'm going to drag myself to my waitressing job, and I'm going to be homeless in a couple of days, with nowhere to go...but tonight, I can join in with everyone else, put on my glasses, and watch the magic happen.

I have this compulsion for freedom,for a state of liberation. It is an urge so strong, so all-encompassing that it overwhelms everything else. I cannot stand my life as it is. I cannot stand to be here, in this town, in this school. I have to get away.I have to work and work so that I can leave and only then can I create a life that will be liveable for me.

Besides, nothing mattered to her any longer. If she had anything left it was her horror of cold — and the uncle had coal through his contacts. But she found the atmosphere of Berlin hard to bear. She dreamed of escape, of going to live under some more clement sky, far, very far away from it all, closer to nature.

My father had left a small collection of books in a little room upstairs, to which I had access (for it adjoined my own) and which nobody else in our house ever troubled. From that blessed little room, Roderick Random, Peregrine Pickle, Humphrey Clinker, Tom Jones, the Vicar of Wakefield, Don Quixote, Gil Blas, and Robinson Crusoe, came out, a glorious host, to keep me company. They kept alive my fancy, and my hope of something beyond that place and time . . .

I just wanted to stay away from everyone as much as possible. Like a hedgehog rolling into a ball when it’s threatened. But sometimes I wished everything was different.

A person who questions the value of living has endured a worthless life committed to trivial pursuits. A disoriented person constantly asks whom they are and where must they go. A stupid person fails to realize basic truths and flees from reality.

My life was falling somewhere between mental anguish and boredom. I tended to resist any kind of joy, even when I longed to live a more exciting life. I couldn’t make even small or simple changes, and I wasn’t able to shift my thinking.