Laurie Halse Anderson Quotes

How could you not want to draw breath one more day? How could your own life be such a cheap commodity? But then I started to understand: when your existence is hell, death must be heaven.

Of course, living is another way of killing oneself: its drawback is that it takes so horribly long.

All the Hennessy and weed can't hide, the pain i feel inside, its like I'm living just to die.

There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide.

For death is not the worst, but when one wants to die and is not able even to have that.

What we think of as our sensitivity is only the higher evolution of terror in a poor dumb beast. We suffer for nothing. Our own death wish is our only real tragedy.

Disease, insanity, and death were the angels that attended my cradle, and since then have followed me throughout my life.

Sickness, insanity and death were the angels that surrounded my cradle and they have followed me throughout my life.

The desire to die was my one and only concern; to it I have sacrificed everything, even death.

Man is born in a day, and he dies in a day, and the thing is easily over; but to have a sick heart for three-fourths of one's lifetime is simply to have death renewed every morning; and life at that price is not worth living.

The counterpart of the suicide is the seeker; but the difference between them is slight.

Did I pray for death? I did one time. I wanted to die so badly. And I didn't want to die. I wanted to rest, you know. And I knew the only rest I would find is in death.

I'd like a drink. I desire to forget life. Life is a hideous invention by somebody I don't know. It doesn't last, and it's good for nothing. You break your neck simply living.

Mix an anorexic body with a heart made of pure fire and you are going to go with a savagery that's hard to explain.

During depression the world disappears. Language itself. One has nothing to say. Nothing. No small talk, no anecdotes. Nothing can be risked on the board of talk. Because the inner voice is so urgent in its own discourse: How shall I live? How shall I manage the future? Why should I go on?

Unhappiness was my god.

It is a time when one's spirit is subdued and sad, one knows not why; when the past seems a storm-swept desolation, life a vanity and a burden, and the future but a way to death.

Death straps me to the hospital bed, claws its way onto my chest and sits there.I didn't know it would hurt this much. I didn't know that everything good that's ever happened in my life would be emptied out by it.

From the moment of my birth, the angels of anxiety, worry, and death stood at my side, followed me out when I played, followed me in the sun of springtime and in the glories of summer. They stood at my side in the evening when I closed my eyes, and intimidated me with death, hell, and eternal damnation.

I suppose like others I have come through fire and sword, love gone wrong, head-on crashes, drunk at sea, and I have listened to the simple sound of water running in tubs and wished to drown

I'm not a general or a colonel or a builder of cities. I'm just a corpse who wants not to be.

You have left me so long to struggle against death, alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death!

It's a long way from not having enough serotonin to thinking the world is "stale, flat and unprofitable"; even further to writing a play about a man driven by that thought.

it's just another way to die