Richelle Mead Quotes

she committed suicide by putting her extremities down the garbage disposal-first one arm and then, kind of miraculously if you think about it, the other arm.

My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.

Delia's arms were inscribed with a grid of self- inflicted wounds, an intricate text of self-loathing

There were times I felt so anxious, almost like I was crawling out of my skin, that if I didn't do something physical to match the way I felt inside, I would explode. I cut myself to take my mind off that. I just didn't care what happened. I had no fear.

Most self-laceration is more noisy than painful.

Self-harm - the world will come at you with knives anyway. You do not need to beat them to it.

My mother's suicide attempts were a way to release anxiety and get attention. Some of the attempts were drug reactions she didn't even remember later on.

I hit my head against the wall because I don't want to know all the terrible things that I know about. I don't want to feel all these wretched things, but they're in me already. If I don't get rid of them, I'm not ever going to feel anything else.

They'll just cut our wrists like Cheap coupons and say that death Was on sale today.

She felt so much emotionally, she would say, that a physical outlet - physical pain - was the only way to make her internal pain go away. It was the only way she could control it.

The thought of killing myself had slowed me down to five miles per hour. The thought of killing someone else stopped me completely.

I'll put a bullet through my own brain. Let alone wait for stark to do it. Your sister will drive me to it, Howard. No offense.

The private terror of the liberal spirit is invariably suicide, not murder.

I open a paperclip and scratch it across the inside of my left wrist. Pitiful. If a suicide attempt is a cry for help, then what is this. A whimper, a peep? I draw little window cracks of blood, etching line after line until it stops hurting.

Suicides are timid murderers. Masochism instead of Sadism.

Some people go shopping - I cut myself.

So, what, you got cigarette burns, too?" Gitanes said. Chip showed his palm, "It's nothing." "Self-inflicted. You pathetic American." "Different kind of prison" Chip said.

Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.

He went home one evening and drank three cups of tea with three lumps of sugar in each cup, cut his jugular with a razor three times and scrawled on a photograph of his wife with his dying hand goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

Sometimes I even cut myself to see how much it bleeds It's like adrenaline, the pain is such a sudden rush for me.

I thought about dying whenever I got bad news about other people.

I'll never forget one morning I walked in and I had a hell of a bruise - it had been a difficult night the night before - and a client said to me, 'Good God, Vidal, what happened to your face?' And I said, 'Oh, nothing, madam, I just fell over a hairpin.'

I never tried to kill myself or anything.

I read in the paper that I'd slashed my wrists. But I didn't.