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Maybe we're grass—our roots so interdependent that no one is dead as long as someone is still alive.

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
Long
Towns
Roots
Dead
Alive
Maybe
Someone
Interdependent
Stills
Shortage
Still
Grass

More quotes by John Green

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Dumpers may not always be the heartbreakers, and the Dumpees may not always be the heartbroken. But everyone has a tendency.
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There comes a time when we realize that our parents cannot save themselves or save us, that everyone who wades through time eventually gets dragged out to sea by the undertow- that, in short, we are all going.
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Youth is counted sweetest by those who are no longer young.
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We need never be hopeless because we can never be irreperably broken.
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It's embarrassing that we all just walk through life blindly accepting that scrambled eggs are fundamentally associated with mornings.
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I think if you went back to the eighteenth century and you asked a fifteen year old boy, 'Would you like to marry a woman who has had plastic bags needlessly inserted into her breasts?', that fifteen year old boy would probably be like, 'what's plastic?'.
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That’s part of what I like about the book in some ways. It portrays death truthfully. You die in the middle of your life, in the middle of a sentence
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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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Some people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them, I said. Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That's what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway.
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The funny thing about writing is that whether you're doing well or doing it poorly, it looks the exact same. That's actually one of the main ways that writing is different from ballet dancing.
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Were she better or you sicker, then the stars would not be so terribly crossed, but it is the nature of the stars to cross.
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I shaved this morning for precisely that reason. I was like, 'Well, you never know when someone is going to clamp down on your calf and try to suck out the snake poison.
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It's not fair, I said. It's just so goddamned unfair. The world, he said, is not a wishgranting factory.
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I knew that I would know more dead people. The bodies pile up. Could there be a space in my memory for each of them, or would I forget a little of Alaska every day for the rest of my life?
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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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The darkest nights produce the brightest stars.
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Read a lot. Read broadly... Tell stories to your friends, and pay attention to when they get bored... Write a lot.
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The sun was a toddler insistently refusing to go to bed: It was past eight thirty and still light.
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We idealize them as gods or dismiss them as animals.
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I was thinking about this girl you love so much, she said, And this place I love so much. And how that happens. How you can just fall into it.
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