Character: Justine

Now you live in my imaginary world edit. Speaking frankly, I was a fool when all you said. Watch it, what are you questioning me satisfied. The same questions several days in a row. The slightest deviation and you are outside of yourself. You know I never repeat the story twice, word for word. Does this mean that I'm lying?

In my life there is something like Nezhivenko Place, as you call it, and I'm trying to fill it with people, accidents, illnesses, all that came to hand. You're right when you say that it is only a pitiful semblance of true life, a wiser life. However, while I respect your science and your knowledge, I feel that if I should ever come to terms with yourself, before I have to break through the scraps of my personality and burn them to the ground. Artificially of my problems would solve anything - you only need to bury the bib to the priest. But we, the Alexandrians, too proud for that and too respectful of faith. It would be unfair to God, my dear, and even if I fail someone else (I see you smile), I decided in any case not to let Him down, whoever He was.

Anorexia is not a game, not a club, to which members can join. Only when it is sick, you realize what misery, suffering, and the dangers of the disease.

When you meet a person with the disease more serious than your own, do not dare to ask him questions.

We are for each other - axes to cut the roots of those who truly love.

I've always been so strong. Maybe that's the strength and kept me from being truly loved?

Best love letters a woman writes to a man cheating.

Love by its very nature, honesty has nothing to do.

It's hard to resist the desires of the heart: if it is something you really want, then buy anyway and pay the soul.

Who the hell came up with the human heart? Tell me, and then you show the place where he was hanged.

Nothing interesting from a medical point of view - just a cold. Disease not interested in someone who wants to die.

Every man is part clay, part - demon, and no woman is able to endure both at once.

Pointless, "she writes," to imagine a state of love as the line of souls and thoughts; it is the simultaneous breakthrough of the spirit, a twofold in the Autonomous act of growing up. And feel - like a silent explosion inside each of the lovers. Around this event, stunned and detached from the world, sick of love, he, she, moving, tasting their experience; alone her gratitude towards him, an imaginary donor, donor, and creates the illusion of communication with him, but this is an illusion. The object of love is simply one who shared with you your experience and with the same narcissism; and a passionate desire to be near the beloved above all owes its existence not to a desire to possess it, but just try to compare the two amount of experience - like reflections in different mirrors. All this may precede the first look, kiss or touch; precede ambition, pride or envy; precede the first declarations which marked the turning point - since then the love slowly degenerates into habit, possession, and back to loneliness.

I hear talk about girls who want to lose weight to be beautiful like fashion models. It's not about me. I want to destroy itself. I too late realized this.