Demented Quotes Novels & Stories

Her words rambled on with the possibilities and then led to a pair of sentences that she’d circled in dark ink. Does the final stage of the disease cause patients to lose their minds? Contact Dickson for confirmation. I frowned at the questions for a moment and clutched the papers tighter. Suddenly, I recalled something Emmett had once mentioned. It had been the only time he’d ever spoken to me about poison.

Mirabel smirked wickedly and mentally let out, "I can't wait to see you cry," *. *. * Dillon glanced at the ring Ivy provided and then at the ring on his finger. His face was straight-laced and stoic. "Do I look like a joke to you?" He asked, unsmiling. The smile on Ivy's lips froze. "What!" "I said do I look like a joke to you because I am battling with dementia? Do you think I am insane?" "Wh... What... Do... Wh... What do you mean?" She blinked her eyes, baffled.

“If you didn’t know what I’m talking about, you have no reason to worry.” I furrow my brows at her. “But–” She suddenly breaks her gaze from the ceiling and slowly looks back into my eyes, the sharpness giving way to milky confusion. I back away a step, loosening my shoulders as her face screws up in a confused expression. “Who are you? Where is Vera?” I nod, giving her a soft smile. Dementia, I remind myself. She has Dementia. These moments of lucidity are going to be fleeting, even without all the sedatives pumping through her system.

Seeing that Dexie was about to leave, Roger couldn’t stay still any longer. “Dexie, do you think I’m just threatening you with empty words?” “Mr. Zellweger, why do you have Alzheimer’s when you’re not even old?” Dexie raised her hand and pointed to her head, then continued speaking. “Stop daydreaming. It’s terrible for the brain. If you’re a cripple who’s only capable of daydreaming at your age, what are those useless family members who depended on you going to do?” Dexie laughed lightly as she said that. She turned around and walked away.

he asked, pointing the cigarette at Bruce’s face. “Dementia,” I answered, holding Don’s eyes. “He has dementia.” Don laughed. The sound filled the room. “No wonder Bruce came here without being handcuffed,” he said, dropping into the chair across from us and tapping ash into a tray. He talked like we had all the time in the world. He talked about how Bruce had been his best man. How they had been friends when they were young. How they drank in rooms smaller than this one and made promises they swore they would keep. Bruce smiled at pieces of it and lost the rest.

“‌P⁠atience‌ is a virtue.” ⁠Damon groane‍d. “Oh God, you know I hate it when you say s‍hit like that.” I lifted a brow. “Shit like what?⁠” He glanced at me. “Shit l⁠ike patience is a virtue, y⁠ou sound like a fucking sixty y‍ear old.” ‌I snort‌ed. “Th‌e⁠y‌’re idioms, Damon.” “I d⁠on‌’‌t give a fuck what they ar‍e. They’‌re‌ stupid⁠.”

Aunt Becca was telling mom as Grandmother had gone back to Valerie whose tears were now stopped. “I think so too, Mom. Grandmother isn't cured yet” I told mom as I came to stand beside her. She now had tears in her eyes and was trying hard not to shed them. “I’m sorry” Mom said as she pulled me into her embrace. I nodded. I understood what she was apologising for. She has been doing this since childhood, apologising for grandmother's hurtful words. “Dementia isn't a little disease that can be cured easily. Sometimes it takes ages. There was this friend's mother in London. She was never cure of it; she dies without knowing who her daughter was”

"Reiss, what'd you tell her?" I slammed my fist on the table, angrily. The room died into abs olute silence, and their eyes bulged as they looked at me. "What…is going on here?" My voice thundered. "Even if I told you, you wouldn't remember," The lady intercepted again. "It must be so hard living with dementia…" She sighed again, fluttering her eyes close. "I lost my appetite, Reiss. I can't stand people living sad lives…" Dementia? Of all things? He lied to her that I had dementia?! I chuckled bitterly, straightening my back. "Oh, I have dementia?"

After everyone had a moment to absorb their grief, he added slowly, "As family members, it's important to spend more time with him and discuss important matters regularly. This way, his memory decline might be slowed." 'How did Grandpa get dementia? He was so talkative, loving, and forgiving! He also treated Cherry and me so well! Why would God treat such a kind old man like this?' As Sophie listened to their conversation, it felt like she had been struck on the back of her head. Her mouth hung slightly open, unable to produce any sound. She stood in place, dumbfounded, feeling as if her heart were being painfully twisted, almost bringing her to tears. The thought of Jeff slowly forgetting a

Mom is busy talking to someone at one corner while dad is sipping on his drink. "What was that?" I ask him, stopping in front of him. "What do you mean, princess?" He questions back, giving me a gentle smile. "Why didn't you tell me about it before? How can I live with him?" "As far as I remember, I'm the one who is getting old. Should I fear that my young unwed daughter is experiencing signs of dementia?" He chuckles, taking a sip. "What are you getting at?"