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i feel like a curtain has dropped away and i'm seeing people for who they really are, different, and sharp, and unknowable.

Lauren Oliver

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Lauren Oliver
Age: 41
Born: 1982
Born: November 8
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Westchester County
New York
People
Sharp
Seeing
Away
Feel
Feels
Unknowable
Different
Curtain
Really
Curtains
Like
Dropped

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This was what being cured was like: like being in a fishbowl, circling always inside the same glass.
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Black is too morbid red will set them on edge pink is too juvenile orange is freakish
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I get that rush that comes when you know you're doing something wrong and are getting away with it, like stealing from the school cafeteria of getting tipsy at a family holiday without anyone knowing it.
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I remember Lena's expression when he knocked on the door and how Alex had looked at her when she finally let him into the storeroom. I remember exactly what he was wearing, too, and the mess of his hair, the sneakers with their blue-tinged laces. His right shoe was untied. He didn't notice. He didn't notice anything but Lena.
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My heart shoots into my throat every time I think I see his loping walk, or catch sight of some floppy brown hair on a boy - but it's never him, and each time it isn't, my heart does a reverse trajectory down into the very pit of my stomach.
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I just want to be normal, like everybody else. Are you sure that being like everybody else will make you happy?
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No guest rooms.” I shake my head resolutely. “I want to be in a room room. A lived-in room.
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Something must die so that others can live.
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But that's the problem with love - it acts on you, works through you, resists your attempts to control.
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The whole point of growing up is learning to stay on the laughing side.
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It was all very strange, Mr. Gray thought, as he wiped the coffee canister clean with a sponge. Very, very mysterious. You were born you lived a whole life and at the end, you wound up in a coffee canister. Ah, well, he said out loud quietly. That's just the way things are. Life's a funny business. Death, he supposed, was the punch line.
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For a second I feel a rush of sadness: for the horizons that vanish behind us, for the people we leave behind, the tiny-doll selves that get stored away and ultimately buried.
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It will kill me, it will kill me, it will kill me. And I don't care.
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Live free or die. Four words. Thirteen letters. Ridges, bumps, swirls under my fingertips. Another story. We cling tightly to it, and our belief turns it to truth.
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The first time I saw you, at the Governor, I handn't been to watch the birds at the border in years. But that's what you reminded me of. You were jumping up, and you were yelling something, and your hair was coming loose from your ponytail, and you were so fast... He shakes his head. Just a flash, and then you were gone, Exactly like a bird.
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But from the beginning, I knew that in a world where destiny was dead, I was destined, forever, to love him. Even though he didn't - though he couldn't - ever love me back.
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Once Mo had closed the gates, he returned to his little stone hut, and his half-eaten sandwich of butter and canned sardines, and his mug of thick hot chocolate, which every night he poured carefully into a thermos labeled COFFEE.
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you have to understand. i wasn't just thinking of me. i was thinking of her, too.
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I said, I prefer the ocean when it's gray. Or not really gray. A pale, in-between color. It reminds me of waiting for something good to happen.
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And for a moment―for a split second―everything else falls away, the whole pattern and order of my life, and a huge joy crests in my chest. I am no one, and I owe nothing to anybody, and my life is my own.
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