Quotes from Amber Tamblyn

I want to say to the new guys here, look, it's okay to process your shit however you want to. It's your shit. It's no one else's shit. As long as you're not hurting someone else. Your hell is yours and you get to decide, okay? You get to decide when you're ready. It's important that I say this, though: It's not your fault, whatever happened to you. It's not your fault. But healing your own pain does belong to you now.

I was disappearing here in this world, which in some way meant I was reappearing somewhere else. I was whole somewhere else. I was free somewhere else. That thought was comforting. The parallel me had never been raped. Had never been touched. Had never been so obscenely violated. The parallel me had no restrictions. Still enjoyed sunlight. The parallel me had a future that couldn't be darkened by his past.

am in a body. It is not the one I came here with, but it is the one I'll leave here in. I will take care of it. It belongs to me now. My pain, I will take care of it. It belongs to me now. My heart, I will take care of it. It belongs to me now. My story, I will take care of it. It belongs to me now.

I'll bet their wives let their cats go out hunting at night like premonitions of future sons.

Mrs. Pellington found muddy footprints leading up her front porch and only muddy handprints leading away from it.

Forty-two: On your first mission into space, you recall your mother's umbilical cord being cut from you. Your high heels floating down the river, all the way into the Atlantic Ocean.

How can you go on living when you're now being lived in? When you've been invaded?

Bruce watched her nose sniff at the side of the friend's head, her tongue like a worm, searching for a way in.

Her quiet hands, filling up boxes, inviting all the silence to finally leave the room.

In the mirror I see only the time-lapsed weather patterns of 1964.

We interrupt this program for breaking news: Has anyone seen this nobody?

But when I turn up the volume on the TV no laugh track is playing.

It's that drunk bitch in the Thirty-second Street bar.

It stayed like that: a rosy ring of jailed blood that came to the barred window and never left.

It was like that.

I'll be the girl they say pink things to, so weightless she arrives by ghost.

This is the film I could finally get cast in.

I'd grow extra mouths to swallow all his confusion and sorrow.

They say it looked like a big flower had sprung in the place where I shot myself dead, just like those ribbon pigtails clung onto either side of your head.

The way she could turn in to her camera close-up like life depended on her.

I draw a door on the floor and tell him, This is where dad used to take me for dinner.

She looked up and out and jumped into the stars, into the famous valley of light.

I'm told they buried they body with the garter belt still on.

Not a speaking role.