Читаю "Will Grayson, Will Grayson" Джона Грина и Дэвида Левитана и за полдня прочла неполные 5 глав. Потому что каждые две минуты приходится останавливаться, чтобы скопировать очередную фразу оттуда. Потому что это настолько мое, что оно становится страшно. Две истории, два Вилла, абсолютно разные, но я коннекчусь с обоими. А вообще о книге - два Вилла Грейсона, друг друга не знают, абсолютно разные люди, объединяет их только имя. Книга разбита на главы, по половине каждому. И разных Виллов писал разный автор. И это как две книги в одной, но при этом так классно кликает вместе. Первый Вилл, с его "не волноваться, не вмешиваться, не выделяться" и второй Вилл, с его "пить таблетки, представлять, как убиваешь прохожих, и плевать на всех". И цитировать, цитировать и цитировать оттуда. И половину цитат взять мне в подпись.
цитатыTHE FIRST WILL
Also, I feel that crying is almost—like, aside from deaths of relatives or whatever—totally avoidable if you follow two very simple rules: 1. Don’t care too much. 2. Shut up. Everything unfortunate that has ever happened to me has stemmed from failure to follow one of the rules.
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That's the thing about Tiny: his problems are so huge that yours can hide behind them.
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And Tiny is saying, “If you can’t trust your gut then what can you trust?” And I say, “You can trust that caring, as a rule, ends poorly,” which is true. Caring doesn’t sometimes lead to misery. It always does.
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My type’s a little girlier. And honestly, I don’t even like my type of girl that much, let alone other types. Not that I’m asexual—I just find Romance Drama unbearable.
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As lives go, I’ll take the quietly desperate over the radically bipolar.
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Jane: Yeah, well. Some people have lives; some people have music. Me: And some people have neither
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But nothing violates the rules of shutting up and not caring so much as flirting—except possibly for that enchantingly horrible moment when you act upon the flirting, that moment where you seal your heartbreak with a kiss. There should be a third rule, actually: 1. Shut up. 2. Don’t care too much. And 3. Never kiss a girl you like.
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“I’m not asexual. I’m arelationshipal.”
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“I would never come on to you, because you’re not gay. And, like, boys who like girls are inherently unhot. Why would you like someone who can’t like you back?”
The question is rhetorical, but if I wasn’t trying to shut up, I’d answer it: You like someone who can’t like you back because unrequited love can be survived in a way that once-requited love cannot.
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The part I enjoy most is not the doing, but the noticing. Noticing the way she smells like oversugared coffee, and the difference between her smile and her photographed smile, and the way she bites her lower lip, and the pale skin of her back. I just want the pleasure of noticing these things at a safe distance—I don’t want to have to acknowledge that I am noticing. I don’t want totalk about it ordo stuff about it.
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You know how people are always saying your parents are always right? “Follow your parents’ advice; they know what’s good for you.” And you know how no one ever listens to this advice, because even if it’s true it’s so annoying and condescending that it just makes you want to go, like, develop a meth addiction and have unprotected sex with eighty-seven thousand anonymous partners? Well, I listen to my parents. They know what’s good for me. I’ll listen to anyone, frankly. Almost everyone knows better than I do.
THE SECOND WILL
i am constantly torn between killing myself and killing everyone around me.
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at some point last year, her gloom met my doom and she thought it was a good match
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i have a friend request from some stranger on facebook and i delete it without looking at the profile because that doesn’t seem natural. ’cause friendship should not be as easy as that. it’s like people believe all you need to do is like the same bands in order to be soulmates. or books. omg . . . U like the outsiders 2 . . . it’s like we’re the same person! no we’re not. it’s like we have the same english teacher. there’s a difference.
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she doesn’t believe in letting silence go. no, she has to fill it up with talk. i want to tell her that’s what the voices in your head are for, to get you through all the silent parts
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she asks me if i took my pills before i ran off this morning and i tell her, yeah, wouldn’t i be drowning myself in the bathtub if i hadn’t? she doesn’t like that, so i’m all like ‘joke, joke’ and i make a mental note that moms aren’t the best audience for medication humor. i decide not to get her that world’s greatest mom of a depressive fuckup sweatshirt for mother’s day like i’d been planning. (okay, there’s not really a sweatshirt like that, but if there was, it would have kittens on it, putting their paws in sockets.)
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truth is, thinking about depression depresses the shit out of me
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mom is on our lime-green couch, watching thepride & prejudice miniseries for the seven-zillionth time, and i know i’ll be totally girling out if i sit there and watch it with her. the weird thing is that she also really likes thekill bill movies, and i’ve never been able to sense a difference in her mood between when she’s watchingpride & prejudice and when she’s watching kill bill. it’s like she’s the same person no matter what’s happening. which can’t be right.
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mom: i really have to stop doing this. i need to get a life.
i think she’s directing this at herself, or the universe, not really at me. still, i can’t help thinking that ‘getting a life’ is something only a complete idiot could believe. like you can just drive to a store and get a life. see it in its shiny box and look inside the plastic window and catch a glimpse of yourself in a new life and say, ‘wow, i look much happier - i think this is the life i need to get!’ take it to the counter, ring it up, put it on your credit card. if getting a life was that easy, we’d be one blissed-out race. but we’re not. so it’s like, mom, your life isn’t out there waiting, so don’t think all you have to do is find it and get it. no, your life is right here. and, yeah, it sucks. lives usually do. so if you want things to change, you don’t need to get a life. you need to get off your ass.
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if my mom were a jock guy in my school, all of her jock-guy friends would be saying, ‘dude, you just need to get laid.’ but sorry, geniuses, there’s no such thing as a fuck cure. a fuck cure is like the adult version of santa claus.
книжно-прекрасное
Читаю "Will Grayson, Will Grayson" Джона Грина и Дэвида Левитана и за полдня прочла неполные 5 глав. Потому что каждые две минуты приходится останавливаться, чтобы скопировать очередную фразу оттуда. Потому что это настолько мое, что оно становится страшно. Две истории, два Вилла, абсолютно разные, но я коннекчусь с обоими. А вообще о книге - два Вилла Грейсона, друг друга не знают, абсолютно разные люди, объединяет их только имя. Книга разбита на главы, по половине каждому. И разных Виллов писал разный автор. И это как две книги в одной, но при этом так классно кликает вместе. Первый Вилл, с его "не волноваться, не вмешиваться, не выделяться" и второй Вилл, с его "пить таблетки, представлять, как убиваешь прохожих, и плевать на всех". И цитировать, цитировать и цитировать оттуда. И половину цитат взять мне в подпись.
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