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Less than a month ago all of August still stretched before us - long and golden and reassuring, like an endless period of delicious sleep.
Lauren Oliver
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Lauren Oliver
Age: 42
Born: 1982
Born: November 8
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Westchester County
New York
Still
Golden
Long
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August
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That's the thing about faith. It works.
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A string of bright white buildinh, glistening like teeth over the slurping mouth of the ocean.
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I'm overwhelmed with sadness for everything that was lost, and filled with anger toward the people who took it away. My people-or at least, my old people. I don't know who I am anymore, or where I belong. That's not totally true...I know I belong with Alex.
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Finishing books - and leaving the world you've created - is always a kind of emotionally wrenching experience. I usually cry.
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I'm so tired after dinner I fall asleep with my clothes on, almost as soon as my head hits the pillow, and so I forget to ask God, in my prayers, to keep me from waking up.
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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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One of the strangest things about life is that it will chug on, blind and oblivious, even as your private world - your little carved-out sphere - is twisting and morphing, even breaking apart.
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I close my eyes. An image flashes—emerging from the van with Julian after our escape from New York City believing, in that moment, that we had escaped the worst, that life would begin again for us. Instead life has only grown harder.
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Everyone just wasting time because they have so much of it to waste, minutes slipping by on who's with who and did you hear.
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Alex loved books. He was the one who first introduced me to poetry. That's another reason I can't read anymore.
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The second time my world exploded, it was also because of a word. A word that worked its way out of my throat and danced onto and out of my lips before I could think about it, or stop it. The question was: Will you meet me tomorrow? And the word was: Yes.
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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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You see, we didn't know.
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And how she looked at me like I could save her from everything bad in he world. This was my secret: she was the one who saved me
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Lies are just stories, and stories are all that matter. We all tell stories. Some are more truthful than others, maybe, but in the end the only thing that counts is what you can make people believe.
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And there it is: Even though we’re standing in the same patch of sun-drenched pavement, we might as well be a hundred thousand miles apart.
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The question was: Will you meet me tomorrow? And the word was: Yes.
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