It was sadness, lostness, and the worst thing about it was the way it seemed like a default- like it was there all the time, and all her other expressions were just an array of masks she used to cover it up.
— Lani Taylor, Daughter of Smoke and Bon
She struggled with her sadness, but tried to conceal it, to divide it into smaller and smaller parts and scatter these in places she thought no one would find.
— Nicole Krauss (via selfinspiration)
I wonder which is preferable – to walk around all your life swollen up with your secrets until you burst from the pressure of them, or to have them sucked out of you, every paragraph, every sentence, every word for them, so at the end you’re depleted of all that was once as precious to you as hoarded gold, as close to you as your skin – everything that was of the deepest importance to you, everything that made you cringe and wish to conceal, everything that belonged to you alone – and must spend the rest of your days like an empty sack flapping in the wind, an empty sack branded with a bright fluorescent label so that everyone will know what sort of secrets used to be inside you?
— Margaret Atwood