Quote

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.

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
Darkness
Sized
Child
Dough
Taken
Cookie
Though
Sheet
Someone
Cookies
Children
Sheets
Made
Shape
Cutter
Shapes
Cutters

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The question was: Will you meet me tomorrow? And the word was: Yes.
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This is the past: It drifts, it gathers. If you are not careful, it will bury you.
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There is no before. There is only now, and what comes next.
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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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....love and desire enjoy a symbiotic relationship, meaning that one cannot exist without the other. Desire is an enemy to contentment desire is illness, a feverish brain. Who can be considered healthy who wants? The very word want suggests a lack, an impoverishment, and that is what desire is: an impoverishment of the brain, a flaw, a mistake.
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That's when you really lose people, you know.When the pain passes.
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Amazing how hope lives. Without air or water, with hardly anything at all to nurture it.
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They didn’t get me, I should have said. They saved me.
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I can admit, now, that I must have loved Lena. Not in an Unnatural way, but my feelings for her must have been a kind of sickness. How can someone have the power to shatter you to dust--and also to make you feel so whole?
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Let me tell you something about dying: it's not as bad as they says. it's the coming-back-to-life part that hurts.
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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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Things would get difficult again. But that was okay too. The bravery was in moving forward, no matter what.
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Of course. That's what people do in a disordered world, a world of freedom and choice: they leave when they want. They disappear, they come back, they leave again. And you are left to pick up the pieces on your own.
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Maybe all of these different possibilities exist at the same time, like each moment we live has a thousand other moments layered underneath it that look different.
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Things change after you die, though, I guess because dying is the loneliest thing you can do.
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I need to live my life in the light of their deaths. I need to live.
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I cry for everything I abandoned and because I, too, have been left behind -- by Alex, by my mom, by time that has cut through our worlds and separated us.
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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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The house, the pond, the tree-it was all both overwhelmingly familiar and different from what she remembered-smaller and shabbier, somehow. It was like waking up to find that your reflection in the mirror had aged overnight, or had sprouted a new mole: You were forced to admit that things changed, whether you gave them permission to or not.
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Then I think of the dark, and the lights, and the roaring, and Juliet, and before I can think of anything else, I fight the final few steps to the door and step out into the cold, where the rain is still coming down like shards of moonlight, or like steel.
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