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Maybe this is the secret to talking to boys--maybe you just have to be angry all the time.

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
Boys
Maybe
Secret
Talking
Time
Angry

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I didn't realize then what a privilege that was: to be bored with your best friend to have time to waste.
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Po flickered. Thank you? it repeated. What is that? Liesl thought. It means, You were wonderful, she said. It means, I couldn't have done it without you.
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Of all the miracles Po had seen in the time and space of its death, Po thought this--the absorption of another, the carrying of it--was the most bewildering and remarkable of all. Whenever Bundle separated again, Po was left with an ache of sadness that reminded the ghost of the body it had left behind.
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Everything in me feels fluttering and free, like I could take off from the ground at any second. Music, I think, he makes me feel like music.
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Hope keeps you alive.
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The tunnels may be long, and twisted, and dark but you are supposed to go through them.
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Rainstorms are incredible: falling shards of glass, the air full of diamonds.
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It's amazing how close I have been, all this time, to my old life. And yet the distance that divides me from it is vast.
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I will make a pact with you: I will do it if you will do it, always and forever. Take down the walls.
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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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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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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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They’d already taken her from me once. I didn’t want to lose her again.
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In one of the tents, Julian is sleeping. And in another: Alex
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Fred is officially the mayor of Portland now.
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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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As we're standing there I realize we're almost exactly the same height. We must look like the dark and light side of an Oreo cookie, and I think how just as easily it could have been the other way around. She could be blocking my path I could be trying to slip around her into the dark.
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Some things are better left buried and forgotten.
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Nothing has ever been so painful or delicious as being so close to him and being unable to do anything about it: like eating ice cream so fast on a hot day you get a splitting headache.
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The salt blowing off the sea makes the air feel textured and heavy.
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