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The dead are visible only in the terrible lidless eye of memory.

John Green

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John Green
Age: 47
Born: 1977
Born: August 24
Author
Businessperson
Critic
Editor
Film Producer
Journalist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Podcaster
Singer
Indianapolis
Indiana
John Michael Green
Memories
Eye
Visible
Memory
Terrible
Dead

More quotes by John Green

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And he found himself thinking that maybe stories don't just make us matter to each other - maybe they're also the only way to the infinite mattering he'd been after for so long.
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And I vaguely remember her smiling at me from the door way the glittering ambiguity of a girls smile, which seems to promise an answer to the question, but never gives it. The question, the one we’ve all been asking since girls stopped being gross, the question that is to simple to be uncomplicated: Does she like me or does she LIKE me?
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The future will erase everything--there's no level of fame or genius that allows you to transcend oblivion. The infinite future makes that kind of mattering impossible.
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If drunk were cookies, I'd be Famous Amos
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. . . Endlessness is a really strange idea in a universe that is defined by its endings.
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I will play out the string. I will not betray your trust. I will find you.
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Did I help you toward a fate you didn't want, Alaska, or did I just assist in your willful self-destruction?
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Great news for someone is always bad news for someone else
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feeling - probably for the first time in my life - the fear and excitement of living in a place where you never know what's going to happen or when.
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Love is always a miracle, everywhere,every time. But for us, it's a little different. I don't want to say it's more miraculous,...It is though.
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Lonley, Vaguely pedophilic swing set seeks the butts of children.
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My regret was immediate and permanent and useless.
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You're awfully philosophical for a girl that just got busted.
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Maybe we're grass—our roots so interdependent that no one is dead as long as someone is still alive.
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She was not an adventure, she was not a fine and precious thing. She was a girl.
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Margo says, I know what she's talking about. The something deeper and more secret. It's like cracks inside of you. Like there are these fault lines where things don't meet up right.
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Pain is like fabric: The stronger it is, the more it’s worth.
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Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.
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Maybe some people need to believe in a proper and omnipotent God to pray, but I don't.
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He responded a few minutes later. Okay. I wrote back. Okay. He responded: Oh, my God, stop flirting with me!
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