Best 95 quotes in «relatable quotes» category

How am I supposed to make big decisions when I still have to sing the alphabet to myself to alphabetize stuff?

I am always disappointed with someone who loves me - how perfect can he be if he can't see through me?

Human experience is not nest and orderly, ready to be coded into predetermined categories. Real life is messy

I can't help it. I'm a Slytherin." And I'm the worst kind of Slytherin. I'm the kind who's so stupidly in love with a Gryffindor, she can't even function. I'm the Draco from some shitty Drarry fic that the author abandoned after four chapters.

I am what I am, and there's much about me that won't be changed with any amount of wishing or wanting. I'm sorry for that. I'd trade a great deal to share an afternoon in the hay with you, dust in the air and sweat on our skins and neither of us caring. But I'm afraid the experience would drive me mad. I am a creature of sterile environments. It's too late for me to change.

I am going to shrink and shrink until I am a dry fall leaf, complete with a translucent spine and brittle veins, blowing away in a stiff wind, up, up, up into a crisp blue sky.

I didn’t want to fall in love. Looking at you gave me chills and kissing you made my knees weak. You made flowers grow and fill the space in my lungs which made it impossible for me to breathe. I’m trying to drench the memories and the blood that once pumped through my veins has been replaced with alcohol. My teeth has shattered from all the whiskey bottles and every morning I awake to throw up the poison I swallowed the night before as a hopeless attempt to forget the taste of your lips. I keep hearing the sound of your voice calling out my name as if it’s something I’m not allowed to forget.

I don't think we are out of the woods, I don't think we ever are

I feel like if I hold things close, never share, then I never give anyone the opportunity to judge me.

If I open up, it gets me, Dad. It gets me, and I don't know if I'm strong enough to stand it.

Graceful has never been a word you immediately pinned to my physical prowess; a flailing, tumbling human version of Jenga was a tad closer to accuracy.

I hate tiny parties’, Jane also admitted, ‘they force one into constant exertion’. She had always been too introverted to make friends easily, and this grew more pronounced as she grew older. Her manner, Frank admitted, was ‘rather reserved to strangers so as to have been by some accused of haughtiness’. Jane described one heavy evening of socialising, which began at seven, as a ‘Labour’ from which the home team of female Austens were eventually ‘delivered’ at ‘past eleven’.

I don't get why we call it a crush when it feels more like a curse.

I felt like laundry in a washing machine, when all I wanted was to be put on and become her favourite shirt.

If you haven't caused a scene in a psych unit, it's just because you haven't been inside long enough.

I hate Hera.

I have this thing where if someone likes me, I feel like I tricked them into it. Like I can't trust it. I'll fuck it up somehow, like with Hudson.

I know I exude a certain confidence, but I have a little secret: parties always make me just a little bit nervous! The anticipation. What dress I would wear. Who I would dance with. Would anyone die.

I love Nico

I'm a lunatic wandering around for scraps, I'm like every single miserable moron I've scorned, and pretended I didn't recognize. I'm all of them, every last ugly thing in a bad last-minute costume. I'm not different, not at all, not different from any other speck of a thing.

I speak languages with more ease than I read or write them, she explains. It is something in the feel of the sounds. I could attempt to put them on paper but I am sure the result would be appalling.

It creates out our ecosystem a new world, whose processes and aims are utterly alien--one that works through supreme acts of mirroring, and by remaining hidden in so many ways, all without surrendering the foundations of its otherness as it becomes what it encounters.

I've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match. What a catch.

I was convinced that she was about to tell me my card was declined, and assumed Derek wanting to talk later meant he'd soon be telling me our life was declined. Everything, everyone had reached their limits with me.

Matt Connor had already lied to fourteen people since he'd arrived at the office and it was only 11:00am.

Mike glares at him. Jason just smiles, like Mike won't kick his ass. Which he won't. Because Mike is a fucking pansy who loves his friends, goddamn it.

I know i barely talk and pretty much act like I'm not here, but I'm totally here and have a million things to say, and me being me is exactly as insane as you being you.

I'm forever observing, trying to learn how to be an adult human being by watching others, and I'm constantly in awe of how easy some people make it look. And then I feel certain something is wrong with me for not being able to do said normal, easy, things with ease

I'm tired of hurting from the people who leave me. I'm tired of getting comfortable with others. I tell you everything and you leave. It's like you're take what is good in me and all that is left in me is an empty shitty feeling.

It's not about the sex, exactly. It's the other stuff. Here's the truth: I want ths so badly, To the point where it's almost physically painful sometimes. I want Olivia's soft voiced conversations with Evan Schulmeister, where she takes five steps away from us before she even answers the phone. Just to be alone with him. And I want the palpable waves of electric crush energy that radiate off Cassie these days. I want to know what it feels like to have crushes that could conceivably one day turn into boyfriends.

I want to tell them about the stones piling up in my stomach. That my thoughts are tangled and wordless.

I was pretty sure if I tried to sing, all I would cause was an avalanche.

I was so nervous about the airport, going through security and doing all that gives me some serious fucking anxiety. ... Everyone seemed so chill.

I wish there were some kind of magic words that could bridge the gap between the person I am and the one I wish I could be. Because the whole fake it till you make it thing? It's not working for me.

I wonder if my entire life will be a series of moments in which I realize I’m an idiot long after I can actually do anything about it. Will I ever feel like I know what I’m doing?

Maybe loneliness is an acquired taste, or maybe it's like plunging your hand in ice water--it hurts like hell in the beginning, and then you go numb.

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?

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.

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.

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;

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 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.

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.

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

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.