Jay Asher Quotes

Sometimes I get too exhausted to even feel bad

Well, I did know - but I just wanted the day to pass and the next day to come and then I wanted that one to pass. It was a horrible cycle. I felt so close to having to pack the game in.

I am more weary of life, I think, than ever I was.

I don't think I can do this anymore.

I finally said, I can't live being carried by this wake.

My bones are tired from all the tragedy in me.

I've lost a lot. I'm tired of it. It's not fun.

I wrote at the start that this was a record of hate, and walking there beside Henry towards the evening glass of beer, I found the one prayer that seemed to serve the winter mood: O God, You've done enough, You've robbed me of enough, I'm too tired and old to learn to love, leave me alone forever.

We’ve died so many times now that we can only wonder why we still care.

I cling to my anger with every ounce of humanity left in my ruined body, but it's no use. It slips away, like a wave from shore. I am pondering this sad fact when I realize the blackness of sleep is circling my head. It's been there awhile, biding it's time and growing closer with each revolution. I give up on rage, which at this point has become a formality, and make a mental note to get angry again in the morning. Then I let myself drift, because there's really no fighting it.

this time has finished me.

I feel like I’m eighty years old. I’m tired of life and my mind wants to die.

O God, You've done enough, You've robbed me of enough, I'm too tired and old to learn to love, leave me alone for ever.

It was like being given a maths problem when your brain's exhausted, and you know there's some far-off solution, but you can't work up the energy even to give it a go. Something in me just gave up.

I'm not choosing, but I'm running out of fight.

I think about giving up. I almost do.

When it becomes really impossible to get away and sleep, then the will to live evaporates of its own accord.

Like driving along a bumpy road and losing control of the steering wheel, tossing you—just a tad—off the road. The wheels kick up some dirt, but you're able to pull it back. Yet no matter how hard you try to drive straight, something keeps jerking you to the side. You have so little control over anything anymore. And at some point, the struggle becomes too much—too tiring—and you consider letting go. Allowing tragedy... or whatever... to happen.

I am tired of myself in every way. All things, deep down to the secret of their roots, are stained by the color of my weariness.

That's the thing about suicide. Try as you might to remember how a person lived his life, you always end up thinking about how he ended it.

I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.

Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow; My eyes are tired of weeping, My heart is sick of woe.

Depression is like pushing a car up a hill. It takes all my energy to push the car up the hill. I don't have any energy left to write.

I'm half alive but I feel mostly dead.

Over and over I'm on the point of giving it up.