Simone de Beauvoir Quotes

Nobody knows the pain I've been through.

I know a lot of people who are depressed, and they walk around, and they're smiling every day, but no one's asking them how they're really doing.

I probably suffered with depression.

I hit my head against the wall because I don't want to know all the terrible things that I know about. I don't want to feel all these wretched things, but they're in me already. If I don't get rid of them, I'm not ever going to feel anything else.

I curl up, make myself smaller, try to disappear entirely. Wrapped in silence, I slide my bracelet that reads 'mentally disoriented' around and around my wrist.

My thoughts, imprisoned in my secret woes, with flamy breaths do issue oft in sound.

I don't think you're human unless you go through some [self-destructi on].

The hatred you're carrying is a live coal in your heart - far more damaging to yourself than to them.

I can't get my wrists to bleed, just don't know why suicide appeals to me.

Wisdom disguises our wounds; it teaches us how to bleed in secret.

She carried a knife inside of herself now, one that was always cutting her. She could feel it every time she swallowed, every time her thoughts strayed from the splendor of the wild.

Secret griefs are more cruel than public calamities.

People carry their secrets in hidden places, not on their faces. They carry suffering on their faces. Also bitterness if there’s room.

I am a cutter, you see. Also a snipper, a slicer, a carver, a jabber. I am a very special case. I have a purpose. My skin, you see, screams. It's covered with words - cook, cupcake, kitty, curls - as if a knife-wielding first-grader learned to write on my flesh. I sometimes, but only sometimes, laugh. Getting out of the bath and seeing, out of the corner of my eye, down the side of a leg: baby-doll. Pulling on a sweater, and in a flash of my wrist: harmful. Why these words?

I can hurt myself more than anyone else can, she told her sister. I can do it with my eyes closed.

Those griefs burn most which gall in secret.

He was outwardly calm but inwardly bleeding to death.

Found myself screaming in a hotel room. I didn't want to self-destruct.

Now and then I see something in her eyes, and I wonder if I’ve ever grasped how much pain she’s really in.

I am not even alive enough to know how to kill myself

Inwardly, I gouged my eyes out.

She would wonder what had hurt her when she found her face wet with tears, and then would wonder how she could have been hurt without knowing it.

How many people have wanted to kill themselves, and have been content with tearing up their photograph!

Most self-laceration is more noisy than painful.