Quote

He responded a few minutes later. Okay. I wrote back. Okay. He responded: Oh, my God, stop flirting with me!

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
Stop
Back
Responded
Flirting
Wrote
Later
Okay
Minutes

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You do not immortalize the lost by writing about them. Language buries, but does not resurrect.
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He let his mind wander. It went to a predictable place, and he missed her
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Your friendship with her-it sleeps with the fishes.
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I don't think you're dying, I said. I think you've just got a touch of cancer. He smiled. Gallows humor.
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Nothing really ever happens like you imagine it will.
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Just spend a few more months playing video games. That hand-eye coordination will come in handy when you get to third base.
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Nothing ever happens like you imagine it will, she says. The sky is like a monochromatic contemporary painting, drawing me in with its illusion of depth, pulling me up. Yeah, that's true, I say. But then after I think about it for a second, I add, But then again, if you don't imagine, nothing ever happens at all.
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He puts the killing thing in his mouth but doesn't give it the power to kill him.
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Did I help you to a fate you didn't want?
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I am in the midst of a soliloquy! I wrote this out and memorized it and if you interrupt me I will completely screw it up,' Augustus interrupted. 'Please to be eating your sandwich and listening.
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Collin Singleton could no more stay cool than a blue whale could stay skinny or Bangladesh could stay rich
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All salvation is temporary
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I came here looking for a Great Perhaps, for real friends and a more-than-minor life.
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Her library filled her bookshelves and then overflowed into waist-high stacks of books everywhere, piled haphazardly against the walls. If just one of them moved... the domino effect could engulf the three of us in an asphyxiating mass of literature.
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She waited for me to play out the string, to find the place where she had stopped and was waiting for me, to follow the breadcrumb tail until it dead-ended into her.
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Love is just a shout in the void.
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I could stand up and go to her and kiss her. I could. But there is still too much to be ruined.
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Do you ever wonder whether people would like you more or less if they could see inside you? But I always wonder about that. If people could see me the way I see myself—if they could live in my memories—would anyone, anyone, love me?
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That's who you really like. The people you can think out loud in front of.
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I hated cranberry sauce, but for some reason my mom persisted in her lifelong belief that it was my very favorite food, even though every single Thanksgiving I politely declined to include it on my plate.
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