Quote

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
Like
Period
Periods
Reassuring
Months
Stretched
Sleep
August
Less
Delicious
Stills
Month
Still
Golden
Long
Endless

More quotes by Lauren Oliver

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It's like high school holds two different worlds, revolving around each other an never touching the haves and the have-nots. I guess it's a good thing. High school is supposed to prepare you for the real world, after all.
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that's what it was like waking up in the crypts. no-longer-dead. but without her. like burning alive.
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I think of Grace and feel a sharp pain in my chest.
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If you take, we will take back. Steal from us, and we will rob you blind. When you squeeze, we will hit. This is the way the world is made now.
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Direction, like time, is a general thing, the deprived of boundaries and borders. It is an endless process interception and reinterception, doubling back and adjusting.
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Things would get difficult again. But that was okay too. The bravery was in moving forward, no matter what.
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Promise me we'll stay together, okay? His eyes are once again the clear blue of a perfectly transparent pool. They are eyes to swim in, to float in, forever. You and me. I promise. I say. behind us the door creaks open, and I turn around, expecting Raven, just as a voice cuts through the air: Don't believe her.
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I've been so used to thinking of what the borders are keeping out that I haven't considered that they're also penning us in.
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I'll find you, he says, watching me with the eyes I remember. I won't let you go again
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But...books are so much more. Some of them are webs you can feel your way along their threads, but just barely, into strange and dark corners. Some of them are balloons bobbing up through the sky: totally self-contained, and unreachable, but beautiful to watch. And some of them―the best ones―are doors.
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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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The whole point of growing up is learning to stay on the laughing side.
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The salt blowing off the sea makes the air feel textured and heavy.
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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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A string of bright white buildinh, glistening like teeth over the slurping mouth of the ocean.
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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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That is what Alex is now: a shadow-boy
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It was a bird. A bird struggling through stickiness: a bird coated in paint, floundering in its nest, splashing color everywhere. Red. Red. Red. Dozens of them: black feathers coated thickly with crimson-colored paint, fluttering among the branches. Red means run.
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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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But that's the problem with love - it acts on you, works through you, resists your attempts to control.
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