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Don't give up on me now. I'm sorry. I guess that's an odd thing to say. Because isn't that what I'm doing? Giving up?

Jay Asher

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Jay Asher
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: September 30
Novelist
Writer
Arcadia
California
Odd
Sorry
Guess
Give
Giving
Thing

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Sometimes we have thoughts that even we don't understand. Thoughts that aren't even true—that aren't really how we feel—but they're running through our heads anyway because they're interesting to think about.
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You can't stop the future You can't rewind the past The only way to learn the secret ...is to press play.
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We both laugh. And it feels good. A release. Like laughing at a funeral. Maybe inappropriate, but definitely needed.
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But sometimes there’s nothing left to do but move on.
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Whenever I'm out late she makes a sandwich for my school lunch. I always protest and tell her not to, saying I'll make my own when I get home. But she likes it. She says it reminds her of when I was younger and needed her.
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The Golden Rule will always be good advice!
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That's why you did it. You wanted your world to collapse around you. You wanted everything to get as dark as possible.
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I decided to find out how people at school might react if one of the students never came back.
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I sat. And I thought. And the more I thought, connecting the events in my life, the more my heart collapsed.
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The main thing I wanted to say, and thankfully it’s what most people say they get out of the book, is simply an acknowledgement that we do affect each other in ways we can’t predict.
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I’m sorry.” Once again, those were the words. And now, anytime someone says I’m sorry, I’m going to think of her.
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Do you remember the last thing you said to me? The last thing you did to me? And what was the last thing I said to you? Because trust me when I said it I knew it was the last thing I’d ever say.
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I could picture life—school and everything else—continuing on without me. But I could not picture my funeral. Not at all. Mostly because I couldn’t imagine who would attend or what they would say.
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You can hear rumors. But you can't know them.
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I needed a break... from myself.
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And here he is again, yet things feel like they'll never be as easy between us as they once were.
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I want to look back. To look over my shoulder and see the Stop sign with huge reflective letters, pleading with Hannah. Stop!
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I wanted people to trust me, despite anything they'd heard. And more than that, I wanted them to know me. Not the stuff they thought they knew about me. No, the real me. I wanted them to get past the rumors. To see beyond the relationships I once had, or maybe still had but that they didn't agree with.
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How many times had I let myself connect with someone only to have it thrown back in my face?
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Maybe you didn't know what people thought of you because they themselves didn't know what they thought of you. Maybe you didn't give us enough to go on, Hannah.
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