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Time jumps. It leaps. It pours away like water through fingers.

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
Time
Like
Pours
Jumps
Leaps
Leap
Fingers
Water
Away

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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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Stupid how the mind will try to distract itself.
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Feelings aren't forever. Time waits for no one, but progress waits for man to enact it.
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He was still in love with you, anyway.
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That's the thing about faith. It works.
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The first one, we’ll name Blue.
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I’ve never really had a party before.” “Why did you have one now?” I say, just to keep him talking. He gives a half laugh. “I thought if I had a party, you would come.
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It was as though the darkness was a sheet of raw cookie dough and someone had just taken a cookie cutter and made a child-sized shape out of it.
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A string of bright white buildinh, glistening like teeth over the slurping mouth of the ocean.
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Poetry isn't like any writing I've ever heard before. I don't understand all of it, just bits of images, sentences that appear half-finished, all fluttering together like brightly colored ribbons in the wind.
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i think of all the thousands of billions of steps and missteps and chances and coincidences that have brought me here. Brought you here, and it feels like the biggest miracle in the world.
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I wonder if this is how people always get close: They heal each other's wounds they repair the broken skin.
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This is what hatred is. It will feed you and at the same time turn you to rot.
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People could push and pull at you, and poke you, and probe as deep as they could go. They could even tear you apart, bit by bit. But at the heart and root and soul of you, something would remain untouched.
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Love is a kind of possession. It’s a poison.
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People are like ants: Just a few of them give all the orders. And most of them spend their lives getting squashed.
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When he speaks again, I can tell that he's smiling. So I guess we saved each other.
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Snapshots, moments, mere seconds: as fragile and beautiful and hopeless as a single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind.
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Each step is more difficult than the last the heaviness fills me and turns my limbs to stone. You must hurt or be hurt.
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Everywhere he touches is fire. My whole body is burning up, the two of us becoming twin points of the same bright white flame.
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