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Some secrets can't be kept too long. No matter how hard you try to hide them, sooner or later they scurry out from your cupboards, cockroaches on the run.

Ellen Hopkins

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Ellen Hopkins
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: March 26
Novelist
Writer
Long Beach
California
Ellen Louise Hopkins
Secret
Scurry
Running
Cupboards
Matter
Cockroaches
Hard
Sooner
Trying
Secrets
Long
Hide
Kept
Later

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When i'm with you my blood flows smoothly through
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And now life has become the future. Every moment of your life is lived for the future-you go to high school so you can go to college so you can get a good job so you can get nice house.
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Have you ever once in your life reached out to touch infinity?
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It's just so hard to feel good, you know? I do know. And more than that, it's just so incredibly hard to feel. (54)
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I wonder how long it would take him to realize I'm right as sin - it's the rest of the world that's wrong. I'm not even sure how I qualify for admission to Aspen Springs. Does wanting to die equal losing your mind?
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The universe is a big place. If I was lost up there, how would you ever find me
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Religion is for followers... Followers and puppets.
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In control. Out of control. Sometimes they're the same thing. The trick is knowing that, realizing it's okay to feel out of control once in a while, as long as you're sure you can regain the upper hand when you absolutely need to.
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Why doesn't love come with an owner's manual?
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It's probably weird to think about an addiction like it's a sentient being, but that's how it feels. Like it's something living inside you. Something you can't get rid of because killing it means killing you.
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Cleansed, chlorinated to the point of chemical peel, sore muscles relieved, I felt almost human again. Tiptoe to my room, up a darkened hall, past closed doors, I wondered if I'd ever feel completely human again.
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If I come back to you now, can we be what we were before life’s uncertain rhythms tore us so far apart? If I return today, will your arms gather me in, or will I be wrenched away, snatched by riptide I have no power to resist? If I find my way to you, one man standing in a crowd, will I even know who you are?
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When all choice is taken from you, life becomes a game of survival.
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But then, my entire life is bullshit. The best things in it have vanished, ghosts. Ghosts I'll admit I created.
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Alone everything changes. Some might call it distorted reality but it's exactly the place I need to be.
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I am different. And I don't understand exactly how. And I don't understand just why.
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I feel like a goddess, jailed in her Olympus. Little wonder how the gods toyed with humans. Toyed with women, to watch them squirm, pollinate the seeds of despair toyed with men, to satiate their Seven Deadly Sins.
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You'll only find happy endings in books. Some books.
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Anger requires energy, something I don't dare waste on what cannot be altered.
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Authors have to write for their characters, for who they are, that's the strength of books. Don't worry about censors. Just write the story you need to tell and the rewards will come.
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