Richelle Mead Quotes

The thought of killing myself had slowed me down to five miles per hour. The thought of killing someone else stopped me completely.

It was not as easy to commit suicide as to contemplate it.

Sometimes, people trying to commit suicide manage it in a manner that leaves them breathless with astonishment.

They tried to get me-I got them first! (suicide note)

What I've tried to do is bring the madness out in the open. Keep it under wraps, and it erupts into wars and violence.

It's unnatural to fight somebody who has nothing against you and never did anything to you or to your family, who never stole anything from you. And now you've got to go and try to dismantle this guy.

Part of me wonders if this is a suicide mission disguised as a game.

But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.

Awash in a flood of hostility and despair, they battled and railed and shattered their bodies on one another, unable to find one strand, one sobering swallow of solace.

Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put the gun to your chest.

Many of the artifacts of my house had become potential devices for my own destruction: the attic rafters (and an outside maple or two) a means to hang myself, the garage a place to inhale carbon monoxide, the bathtub a vessel to receive the flow from my opened arteries. The kitchen knives in their drawers had but one purpose for me.

As the situation developed, the futility of attempting suicide in the middle of a hospital became apparent.

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

All attack is a call for help.

A man who is willing to commit suicide has the initiative.

Suicide is the worst form of murder, because it leaves no opportunity for repentance.

What happened, then? You're stomping through every puddle you can find and look like you're going to punch the first person you see." "Why are you hanging around, then? Aren't you worried about getting hit?" "Aw, you'd never hurt me. My face is too pretty

There are a great many ways to commit suicide you know.

I could never kill myself. I approve of suicide if you have horrible health. Otherwise it's the ultimate hissy fit.

I wanted to die. I had a panic attack.

Have you made any plans? Take an overdose, slash my wrists then hang myself. All those things together? It couldn't possibly be misconstrued as a cry for help.

Suicide is the role you write for yourself. You inhabit it and you enact it. All carefully staged -- where they will find you and how they will find you. But one performance only.

If somebody wants to shoot up and die in front of you, more power to them. The herd has a way of thinning itself out.

Nowadays, suicide is just a way of disappearing. It is carried out timidly, quietly, and falls flat. It is no longer an action, only a submission.

Here's the difficulty about suicide: it is an act of ambition that can be committed only when one has passed beyond ambition.