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That's when you really lose people, you know.When the pain passes.

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
People
Passes
Lose
Loses
Pain
Really

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Most of us won't see one another after graduation, and even if we do it will be different. We'll be different. We'll be adults--cured, tagged and labeled and paired and identified and placed neatly on our life path, perfectly round marbles set to roll down even, well-defined slopes.
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Most of the time one night blends into the next and weeks blend into weeks and months into other months. And sooner or later we all die. But at the beginning of the night anything’s possible.
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The sparrows jumped before they knew how to fly, and they learned to fly only because they had jumped.
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It's an incredible thing, how you can feel so taken care of by someone and yet feel, also, like you would die or do anything just for the chance to protect him back.
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Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge.
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You see, we didn't know.
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Anger is useful only to a certain point. After that, it becomes rage, and rage will make you careless.
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I’ve always hated being looked at.
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Sarah: Not bad. You look almost human. Lena: Thanks. Sarah: I said almost. Lena: Well, then, almost thanks.
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But you can build a future out of anything. A scrap, a flicker. The desire to go forward, slowly, one foot at a time. You can build an airy city out of ruins.
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Because I think you're right. You can make a difference. He told me experiences were kind of like fate, and fate usually came in the form of a test. He told me fate liked to be worshiped. It liked to see us fall on out knees before it offered to help us up... ♥
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I feel a flash of grief so intense it almost makes me cry out: not for what I lost, but for the chances I missed.
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His eyes are the color of honey. These are the eyes I remember from my dreams.
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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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No one can tell us no. No one can make us stop. We have picked each other and the rest of the world can go to hell.
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There's still always the possibility that I've gone totally, clinically cuckoo. But somehow I don't think so anymore. An article I once read said that crazy people don't worry about being crazy - that's the whole problem.
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Perhaps this was how the sparrows did it too perhaps they were looking so hard at the peaks and tips of the new rooftops coated with dew, and the vast new horizon, that they only forgot that they did not know how to fly until they were already in midair.
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I’m with Julian,” I say at last. This, after all, is what I have chosen.
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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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Sometimes I'm afraid to go to sleep because of what I'm leaving behind.
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