Some of the books that I consider my favorite are ones that rock me to my core, that leave me feeling like someone squeezed my heart really tightly for those 300 to 400 pages. But the idea of going through that experience for a second time? No, thank you.
Not only do I not want to experience that kind of emotional roller coaster for a second time (let’s ignore the fact that I continue to go through it, just with different books), but what if it is worse a second time around? Now that I know what is coming, will the ride only be worse because I am just waiting for events to occur? Will I even have the strength to continue through the book a second time around? Part of me thinks it is like knowing that an oven is hot and choosing to touch it anyway.
One of these women is despised and hated for being awkward.
The other is applauded and worshipped for the exact same reason.
I know other factors come into play.
But something isn’t right there.
ones an extrovert and ones an introvert voila la différence
One had to portray a disaster of a character, one didn’t
Both were doing their jobs as actresses. One was better written.
If you’re reading this…
Congratulations, you’re alive.
If that’s not something to smile about,
then I don’t know what is.
—Chad Sugg, Monsters Under Your Head (via observando)