Sarah Rees Brennan Quotes

I'm so sick of my own music that I don't know if I can edit another video, which involves hundreds of hours of listening to your own song again and again and again. It becomes so grating after a while.

I play the same album over and over until the people in my house are ready to kill me.

self-pity is better than none.

But I'm not ready to stop listening to the screwed-up inner voice that's been ordering me around for a lifetime. My head thinks it can kill me... and go on living without me.

Things might have been different if she hadn't been able to drift; if she'd had to concentrate on her next meal, instead of dwelling on all the injuries she felt we'd done her. An unearned income encourages self-pity in those already prone to it.

Empathetic listening is an awesome medication for the hurting heart.

Sorry," I said to the Duke. "Eh, it's not your fault. It's Carla's fault. You were turning the wheel. Carla just wasn't listening. I knew I shouldn't have loved her. She's like all the others, Tobin; as soon as I confess my love, she abandons me." I laughed. "I never abandoned you," I said patting on her back. "Yeah, well, (a.) I never confessed my love to you, and (b.) I'm not even female to you.

You can victimize yourself by wallowing around in your own past.

Life, I fancy, would very often be insupportable, but for the luxury of self compassion.

If you really love guitar, you're going to spend every waking hour stroking the thing.

Self-pity comes so naturally to all of us.

I once lost five years listening to a Pink Floyd album.

I compulsively reach for perfection in music, often at the expense of everything else in my life.

Miserable men commiserate not themselves; bowelless unto others, and merciless unto their own bowels.

There is a certain amount of purpose, acquiescence, and satisfaction in nursing one's melancholy.

People sinking into self-pity and depression are dreary, but they can't get out of it by themselves. So every now and then, just sit there and listen, and listen, and listen. You're paying your membership dues in the human race.

Grief and disappointment are like hate: they make men ugly with self-pity and bitterness. And how selfish they make us too.

Self-pity in its early stages is as snug as a feather mattress. Only when it hardens does it become uncomfortable.

Perhaps its not the world that is soundless but we who are deaf.

In a weird way I must have loved my little collection of hurts and wounds. They provided me with some real nice sympathy, with the feeling I was exceptional... What a special case I was.

Do you take pride in your hurt? Does it make you seem large and tragic? ...Well, think about it. Maybe you're playing a part on a great stage with only yourself as audience.

That Woman is in love with her own grief.

I've always been a fan first and foremost - obsessing over bands and seeking out bands, and spending hours and hours listening. When I played music, the scope of my fandom became more myopic; I was focusing on the bands we were touring with, or the bands on the label. And you're always positing yourself in relation to other bands. Since I haven't been playing, I feel a little less cynical. I'm able to seek out music and approach it strictly as a fan.

He gave everything to everybody. Except to me.

In such situations, of course, people don't nurse their anger silently, they moan aloud; but these are not frank, straightforward moans, there is a kind of cunning malice in them, and that's the whole point. Those very moans express the sufferer's delectation; if he did not enjoy his moans, he wouldn't be moaning.