A Quote by Jessica Cox
Prosthetics just felt very foreign to me: You wear them on your shoulders, strap them to your chest, and they're heavy and uncomfortable. If someone gave you a hug, you'd miss that touch. They were more like a cage for me.
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If my performance touches someone or helps someone understand themselves a little better or gives them a laugh, I feel like I gave them something. I want to touch people's lives and bring them along with me.
The heart chakra is located in the center of your chest. Hold your right or left hand out. Now say "Me" and, as you do so, touch your chest. You will automatically touch your heart chakra.
And then Adam Wilde shows up at Carnegie Hall on the biggest night of my career, and it felt like more than a coincidence. It felt like a gift. From them. For my first recital ever, they gave me a cello. And for this one, they gave me you.
My mum used to wear the guys' Chesty Bonds tanks, and I used to end up wearing them after she'd finish with them. She's a painter, and they would be covered in paint splatters. She would wear them and wear them until they were super-soft, and then I'd get them. But I was just a kid, so they were like a dress on me.
When I was a little girl, I used to try and bring sunshine to my mother. I felt so bad that she had never really seen or felt it. So I would try and catch it in jars. When that failed, I captured jars and jars of lightening bugs and told her that if we could catch enough of them, then it would look like the sun. She’d laugh, hug me, and then set them free and tell me that nothing should have to live its life in a cage. (Cassandra)
Having someone in your class call you fat, ugly, too tall and so on, you start to think all those things about yourself. And if you're like me, those words are played on repeat inside your head. When I was at home, I felt loved and safe. My sisters were always a safe haven for me. I knew they would always play with me and make me feel like I was one of them. Now we have so many more social outlets, there are so many ways to be stalked and bullied. If social media is too much for you to handle then don't have a Twitter or Facebook account, just be yourself. Be who you want to be.
When we were all getting ready to leave, I walked up to my grandfather and gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek. He wiped my lip print off with his palm and gave me a look. He doesn't like the boys in the family to touch him. But I'm very glad that I did it anyway in case he dies. I never got to do that with my Aunt Helen.
Count yourself lucky. I watched my entire family as they were eaten alive by the very pack of animals you have downstairs in your house with your child. The blood of my parents flowed from their bodies through the floorboards and drenched me while I lay in terror of being torn apart by them. I was only a year older than your child when it happened. My parents gave their lives for mine and I watched as they gave them. So you’ll have to excuse me if I have a hard time thinking good of any animal except those who are dead or caged. (Angelia)
Randy Wittman told me not to shoot 3-pointers. That got me very uncomfortable. There were certain labels tagged on me very early in my career, spots on the floor where I felt uncomfortable.
I love you: You imagine hearing the words from someone not related to you, someone not your best friend, but when someone you love, someone you dream about, actually says them, it makes your body melt and your breath get caught in your chest.
You ever feel like you know someone so much that they can breathe for you? Like when their chest and your chest rise and fall, they do it together because they have to? That's how it felt. That's how it always felt.
Objects should not touch because they are not alive. You use them, put them back in place, you live among them: they are useful, nothing more. But they touch me, it is unbearable. I am afraid of being in contact with them as though they were living beasts.
She turned to Skulduggery and held out her arms. “Come here, you.” He tilted his head. “My hugs are for special occasions only.” “Hug me.” “I prefer the old tradition.” “Hug.” “Would a handshake do?” “Hug.” “A pat on the back?” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms round him. “Hug,” she said. He sighed, and his hands settled on her shoulders. The others were warm and their embraces strong – with Skulduggery the hug was cold, and there were areas on his jacket that gave way beneath her fingers, and she could feel the emptiness within. She didn’t mind.
You can do all them push-ups to pump up your chest,
I got a 12 gauge Mossberg to pump up your chest,
Have you gasping for air after that shell hit your vest.
Fear me like you fear God, 'cause I bring death.
I guess this was what it felt like to love someone and feel like you had lost them. Even when you were still holding them in your arms.
She knew what it felt like to stand in front of someone and ask them to love you, to try to pull them to you by the sheer force of your desire, a force so strong it felt as though you were going to die from it.
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