“Imagine you’re at the edge of a forest, right before dawn. There’s no one else around, just you. It’s still dark, and you have no idea what you’re doing there. For whatever reason, you make up your mind to walk straight into the forest. After walking for a while, you come to a small house. Slowly, you open the door. Inside, you find ten sleeping children. The children are fast asleep. Now, in that moment, in that small house, there’s no joy, no pain, no happiness, no sadness. There’s nothing, because all the children are asleep. So what do you do? Wake them up or let them sleep? The choice is yours. If you wake them up, nine children will be happy that you did. They’ll smile and thank you. But one won’t. You know this, before you wake them up. You know that one child will feel nothing but pain from the moment they open their eyes until they finally die. Every second of that child’s life will be more horrible than death itself. You know this in advance. You don’t know which child it’s going to be, but you know that’s going to happen to one of them. If you bring a new life into the world, that’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re waking one of these kids up. You know what makes you think doing that’s okay? Because it’s got nothing to do with you.”
20
“It’s hard, isn’t it? And if it’s not hard, then it makes you feel guilty.”
Parker cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“The pain. The grief. For the first few days after someone dies, it feels like you’ll never smile or laugh again. Then something or someone happens, and it brings a smile to your face or a laugh escapes, and it feels so amazing … until you realize you’re doing it, and …”
“And the grief rushes back in to steal it, or the guilt just …”
“Oh the guilt…” Levi pushed a long breath out his nose “…it’s the worst. As if the grief isn’t enough, guilt sits on your conscience asking you, ‘What the hell are you so happy about?’ But I think we should rebel. What do you think?”
“Rebel?”
Levi sat up straight. “Let’s smile. Not the guilty, courteous one that we’ve been sharing with everyone else today. The kind that physically hurts your face after a few seconds. The kind that will leave all the muscles in our faces sore for the next hour. It will be our little secret.”
kendimle iddaya girdim, Levi'yi sevmicem.
Tell him, Nico di Angelo, said Cupid, voice sounding a lot like someone Nico knew. Tell him that you are a coward, afraid of yourself and your feelings. Tell him the real reason you left Camp Half-Blood, and why you are always alone.
The word echoed around Nico’s head in that strangely familiar voice: coward, coward, coward. That’s what he was,
Sanırım bunu hiç kimse okumayacak
Carl Jung and the Shadow (Jack E. Othon)
(...) Have you ever said or done something really shitty, mostly on an impulse, that you later regretted? After the damage was done and the other person involved was hurt, you couldn’t bury your shame fast enough. “Why did I say that?” you might have asked yourself in frustration. It’s that “Why?” question that indicates the presence of a blind
The only times when the pain simply, miraculously ceases, are those moments just after she laughs.
Something Ji-woo says or does makes her laugh, and then immediately afterward she is left blank,
empty even of pain. At such times, the sheer fact of her having laughed seems unbelievable, and makes her laugh again. Admittedly, this laughter always seems more manic than happy, but Ji-woo
loves to see it all the same.
“Was this it, Mum? Was this what made you laugh?”
Then Ji-woo will repeat whatever it is he’d just been doing, such as pursing his lips and using his hands to mimic a horn growing out of his forehead, or else making a clattering sound, sticking his
head between his legs and calling out “Mum, Mum!” in a silly voice. The more she laughs, the more he ups the ante with his clowning. By the time he finishes he will have run through all the secret
mysteries of laughter that human beings have ever understood, mobilizing everything at his disposal.
There is no way for him to know how guilty it makes his mother feel, seeing such a young child go to such lengths just to wring a bit of apparent happiness from her, or that her laughter will all eventually
run out.
Life is such a strange thing, she thinks, once she has stopped laughing. Even after certain things have happened to them, no matter how awful the experience, people still go on eating and drinking, going to the toilet and washing themselves—living, in other words. And sometimes they even laugh out loud. And they probably have these same thoughts, too, and when they do it must make them
cheerlessly recall all the sadness they’d briefly managed to forget.
He often makes blithe remarks about things he ‘wishes’. I wish you didn’t have to go, he says when she’s leaving, or: I wish you could stay the night. If he really wished for any of those things, Marianne knows, then they would happen. Connell always gets what he wants, and then feels sorry for himself when what he wants doesn’t make him happy.
“happiness was never important. the problem is that we don't know what we really want. what makes us happy is not to get what we want. but to dream about it. happiness is for opportunists. so i think that the only life of deep satisfaction is a life of eternal struggle, especially struggle with oneself. if you want to remain happy, just remain stupid. authentic masters are never happy; happiness is a category of slaves.” 
Slavoj Zizek
