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Did I help you to a fate you didn't want?
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
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Hipster
Fate
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Helping
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I said nothing—I hadn’t known Marya, and anyway, “listening quietly” was my general social strategy
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One of the jobs of a writer is to add nuance and ambiguity to that straight line that people often draw to very specific kinds of heroism. Most of us don't get to be Snooki. For most of us heroism has to be in our everyday lives.
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By the power of the superglue beer sword, I designate you my driver!
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I've gotten really hot since you went blind.
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We're not going to break anything. Don't think of it as breaking in to SeaWorld. Think of it as visiting SeaWorld in the middle of the night for free.
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Pain is like fabric: The stronger it is, the more it’s worth.
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That smile could end wars and cure cancer.
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You're amazing, and I so want to be your boyfriend, because of what you just said, and also because that shirt makes me want to take you home and do unspeakable things while we watch live-action Sailor Moon videos
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He wasn't perfect or anything. He wasnt your fairytale prince charming or whatever. He tried to be like that sometimes,but i liked him best when that stuff fell away.
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I write about broken people who need other people in order to go on. But those are the only kind of people I know to exist. We are all broken.
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Augustus Waters was the great star-crossed love of my life. Ours was an epic love story, and I won’t be able to get more than a sentence into it without disappearing into a puddle of tears. Gus knew. Gus knows. I will not tell you our love story, because—like all real love stories—it will die with us, as it should.
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And then something invisible snapped insider her, and that which had come together commenced to fall apart.
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And yes, again, that was it exactly. A retyper and not a writer. A prodigy and not a genius.
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My stomach sank. JP had come so close. His immigrant parents had sacrificed so much.
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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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Sunlight feels warm and rough against your skin like a kiss on the cheek from your dad.
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And he was feeling not-unique in the very best possible way.
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And we'll call you... hmmm. Pudge. Huh? Pudge, the Colonel said. Because you're skinny. It's called irony, Pudge. Heard of it? Now, let's go get some cigarettes and start this year off right.
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