Best 95 quotes in «relatable quotes» category

Music. Numbers. Equations. They’re not like words. They … they don’t get mixed up.

My alarm goes off at 5:50 a.m. First thing I do is check to make sure I'm not dead. If I am, in fact, still alive, I usually sob uncontrollably until there's nothing left in my tear ducts but salt dust, then grope blindly through my apartment to the bathroom, where I say a little prayer for a hole to open beneath my building and swallow us all.

No matter how much I tell myself that the fat and the stretch marks don't matter, they do. Even if Bo, for whatever reason, doesn't care, I do. Then there are days when I really give zero flying fucks, and I am totally satisfied with this body of mine. How can I be both of those people at once?

Seeing Salix in front of that orchestra had inspired me. She had felt all the hard feelings, but she had done the hard thing anyway. She just did it. She was prepared to handle whatever happened. Or maybe not prepared, but at least willing to do it and hope for the best, Feel the fear. Do it anyway.

Okay. I've got one. Do you think Pluto should still be considered an actual planet in its own right?" "Much better. And yes, I do. I had to memorize the planets when I was in third grade, and it was one of them, and I don't like having to relearn things.

Of course I know what she means. To make art in fandom is to follow your passion at the risk of never being taken seriously. I've written dozens of fics-put them together and you'd have several novels-but who knows what a college admissions officer will think of that as a pastime. Where does 12,000 Tumbler followers rate in relation to a spot in the National Honor Society in their minds? Every week I get anonymous messages in my inbox telling me I should write a real book. Well, haven't I already? What makes what I do different from "real writing"? Is it that I don't use original characters? I guess that makes every Hardy Boys edition, every Star Wars book, every spinoff, sequel, fairy-tale re-telling, historical romance, comic book reboot, and the music Hamilton "not real writing". Or is it that a real book is something printed, that you can hold in your hand, not something you write on the internet? Or is "real writing" something you sell in a store, not give away for free? No, I know it's none of these things. It's merely this: "real writing" is done by serious people, whereas fanfiction is written by weirdos, teenagers, degenerates, and women.

She generally gave herself very good advice (though she very seldom followed it), and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears into her eyes;

Rock bottom had turned out to be more greasy and hairy than rocky.

She thought of all the things she’d forgotten to be scared of.

She was angry and humiliated and hurt, but she wasn't belligerently vicious. She was clever.

she loved reading it allowed her to cry over someone's sadness when she could no longer identify her own

Sometimes I see people at the supermarket or somewhere else, smiling and cheerfully making small talk with strangers and not looking tense or uncomfortable at all, and i just want to go up and ask them how they do it. How did they manage to do everything they need to do and go out in the world and be human without feeling the weight of it all questioning them into oblivion

Sometimes the people you love the most are the most difficult for you to be around, because they see right through your crap and don’t mind telling you.

Sometimes the universe works in a really weird way. You hate the people who love you, and you love the people who just aren't really that into you. And then there are those who love you as you love them, but fate just decides that you're not meant to be.

Sometimes you go do the opposite things anyway because in actuality... The whole time you've been wanting to hear the right thing from a person that will stop you.

Sorry if you believe in true love, I'm a hopeless romantic too, but I'm also a realist and wear my cynicism like armour.

The future will be better tomorrow.

The coat was black and drab and obviously purchased for the sake of utility without any thought of fashion. It's the type of sacrifice you make when you're a bigger person.

Real people, smart or otherwise, sometimes make stupid choices, and despite judgment, whether from other writers, readers, or haters, books with outwardly stupid characters making stupid choices will continue to sell, because if you dig a little deeper, you’ll find a reason for a character’s moment of idiocy; and more notably, this moment of idiocy amidst the chaos of life is real and relatable.

(Therapist:) "It's interesting that you drew yourself with this little golden crown on your head. What does the crown mean to you?" "That's not a crown," she told him. "That's a nimbus of outrage.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but your words will always kill me.

Today I’m a “sociopath”, A.K.A. feeling very antisocial and ignorant of human emotion. Code for: I’m writing… leave me alone

There was still a question in her eyes-- one that she did not like to put into words.

When the occasional stranger approaches me at a party to say, "Hey, you're Felicia Day. Let's talk about that comic book you were tweeting about last week!" it's the greatest thing in the world. Because it saves me from having to stand in the corner awkwardly, drinking all the Sprite, and then leaving after ten minutes without saying good-bye to my host.

When she sat down to write, she didn't have to wade back into the story slowly, waiting to get used to the temperature.

The old adage of forgive and forget became a trudge through quicksand on a beach as high tide crashed onto the shore.

Please make me either relatable or terrible.

Working is much easier than school, because someone approaches you once a week with money. That never happens at school, unless you're a drug dealer

As a filmmaker, you are constantly having the discussion with your team about whether something is "relatable".

Why do men fight for their servitude as stubbornly as though it were their salvation?

Life is short ... so why waste it doing something dumb?

The inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.

You're quite tall.' Just what a girl wants to be reminded of.

As much as we strive towards the light, we still want to be embraced by the shadow.

But at home, that same day he'd jumped into the fountain, he'd gotten so anxious, pacing around the living room listening to his parents try to calm him, that he suddenly just lost it completely and slapped his face. He immediately started crying, confused and guilty, looking up at his parents like he had no idea how it happened. And, really, that's the way it always was with the hitting. It would happen so fast, his body shaking to release the tension that built up from all the thoughts swirling through his mind and all the air he was having trouble breathing and all the loud beating of his own heart ringing in his ears. It had to get out and that was the path it chose. Slap. Instant relief.

But that's the way life goes most of the time: the thing you least count on comes along and ruins everything else you got planned.

But there's a sense of camaraderie in that, in knowing that you're on the same team of players all looking to play a different game.

Short term satisfaction will never lead to something timeless.

Almost any exhibition of complete self-sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.

At this point, caffeine wasn't for pleasure, it was sheer survival.

By approaching your interactions through the lens of likability, you can expect to be happier, more comfortable, and more successful in establishing meaningful relationships.

Don't ruin a relationship, by giving it a name. A potential lover. A lover of the present and An ace of the past. These months, years and ages, might just forget the memory And remember the terms you used to file them in a draft.

Buy it today, read it tonight, awaken with a new awareness.

Explore your own innermost thoughts to create content that will evoke deeply relatable emotions and passion in others.

Every time I blink, all I can see are my flaws. My body in a fun-house mirror. Hips too wide. Thighs too big. And a head too small for the rest of me.

Feeling like she really was just seven or eight, Claire sat down on the floor, books all around her, and she opened the last one she’d picked up. Even though it was dark, and even though her eyes couldn’t see the words, she knew them. Knew the little prince’s story as well as her own. She closed her eyes. She leaned her head forward against the book. And she sobbed.

Books, she thought, grew of themselves. She never had time to read them. Alas! even the books that had been given her, and inscribed by the hand of the poet himself: 'For her whose wishes must be obeyed' ... 'The happier Helen of our day' ... disgraceful to say, she had never read them.

...everyone holding a check pad is an aspiring something-else.

...from sweaty-palmed anxiety blooms vivid imagination.

Eye contact creates wars, creates fights, but eye contact also creates arousal. I felt the weird, pointless tingles, and I read his face and his smile. I tried to look inside him, see what he was feeling, while at the same time guarding myself.