Ta'Ra

The whole of human history is nothing new, the whole of your personal story is nothing true, you can do with it whatever you want to do — flick a switch, scratch the record off, look behind the veil. Anything you don’t want, discard; anything that hurts, let go. None of it’s real, you know — all that pain, all that regret, all that doubt, not thin enough, not a good enough mum, not a good enough son, not a good enough bum. You are enough; you’re enough; there’s nothing you can buy or try on that’s going to make you any better, because you couldn’t be any better that you are.

Drag your past around if you like, an old dead decaying ox of what you think they might’ve thought or what might’ve been if you’d done what you ought. That which needs to burn, let it burn. If the idea doesn’t serve you, let it go. If it separates you from the moment, from others, from yourself, let it go.

The hard part is when everyone around you thinks they know who you are and they try to lay claim to you and you are trapped.

She is condemned to live in a small cloistered world because of her reluctance or inability to accept the responsibilities of adult friendship. 

- Bainbridge

…I was always tolerant—tolerant of her violence, her recklessness, of all her wild and uncontrolled love affairs. I understood all these passions in her as I could say I understand thunder, or a hurricane, or, in the case of her love affairs, as I understood a great cosmic maternal urge. Isadora was always the great mother in all her expressions of love—she could never truly be a mistress or a wife. She wanted ceaselessly to give of herself to all her loves as a mother gives to a child. And she gave herself indiscriminately because mothers, of which she was the supreme one, do not discriminate among their children.