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There is a dark place calling to me, but I will not go just yet. I know I can't return from it.

Lauren DeStefano

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Lauren DeStefano
Age: 40
Born: 1984
Born: October 13
Author
Novelist
Connecticut
United States
Place
Calling
Return
Dark

More quotes by Lauren DeStefano

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Linden just wants to protect her, is what I want to say. She's all he has. I left him. I'm at arms reach, but I've left him.
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I think humans have always been desperate. I think it has always been about doing something awful if it might help, when the only other option is death. Maybe that's what being a parent is supposed to feel like.
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Good night, sweetheart, he says. Good bye, sweetheart, I say. And it's so casual, so innocent that he doesn't suspect a thing.
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Life is much different from the days when there were lilies in my mother’s garden, and all my secrets fit into a paper cup.
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But I know all the things you're too sweet to know.
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Love is not enough to keep any of us alive.
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There's a world out there that nobody has bothered to promise her.
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It's never right to give up on someone.
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I never wanted to live forever, she says. I just wanted enough time.
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Most dystopian, classic and contemporary, paints a future world that puts a twist on present society - a future world that could plausibly happen.
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You’re insane, you know that?” he says. “It’s the only thing keeping me afloat,” I say.
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It's quiet for a while, and then Rowan says We could talk now. We're alone out here. No walls. There are always walls. I say.
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and I've always known it, the way I love a song I hear for the first time, even before I know all the words, the way I love my favorite color, and the way that the train would speed past my bedroom when it was very quiet and I'd feel it in my stomach rushing through me. I love you in a way that I've never felt needed to be said.
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I lost everyone I loved, I tell him. I wait for him to look at me, and then I add, The day I met you.
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I stare at her collarbone that's framed with lace, the hollow of her throat, her shoulders that rise with each rise with the weight of her next breath. We're fragile things. Our bones show through our skin. What would any god want with us?
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He sits next to me, careful to avoid my hair that's splayed out around my head like blood. A bullet to the forehead, boom, blond waves everywhere.
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Dystopian, by definition, promises a darker story.
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It's best to let her go, he says. No, no, that's wrong. It's never right to give up on someone.
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Someday I'll tell you all of it, I say. I'd like that, he says. No, I say. I promise you won't.
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Things will get worse before they get better.
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