Quote

Once Mo had closed the gates, he returned to his little stone hut, and his half-eaten sandwich of butter and canned sardines, and his mug of thick hot chocolate, which every night he poured carefully into a thermos labeled COFFEE.

Lauren Oliver

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Lauren Oliver
Age: 41
Born: 1982
Born: November 8
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Westchester County
New York
Half
Thick
Labeled
Night
Gates
Sandwich
Littles
Chocolate
Poured
Little
Closed
Sandwiches
Thermos
Every
Stone
Butter
Sardines
Hot
Returned
Canned
Coffee
Eaten
Mug
Stones
Carefully
Huts

More quotes by Lauren Oliver

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Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge. That's what it is: an edge a razor. It draws up through the center of your life, cutting everything in two. Before and after. The rest of the world falls away on either side.
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And we did, and it wasn’t bad. We ate the whole stupid can, we were so hungry. And when it started to get dark you pointed to the sky, and told me there was a star for every thing you loved about me.” I’m gasping, feeling as though I am about to drown I’m reaching for him blindly, grabbing at his collar.
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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 know the past will drag you backward and down, have you snatching at whispers of wind and the gibberish of trees rubbing together, trying to decipher some code, trying to piece together what was broken. It's hopeless. The past is nothing but a weight. It will build inside you like a stone.
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I am now officially married to Fred Hargrove. Nothing will ever be the same.
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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 don't love you, Lena. Do you hear me? I never love you.
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Love is a kind of possession. It’s a poison.
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And when we are with Alex, I might as well not be there. They speak in a language of whispers and giggles and secrets their words are like a fairy-tale tangle of thorns, which place a wall between us.
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Lindsay calls them the Pugs: pretty from far away, ugly up close.
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The kidnapping, the kiss. I brought him here, after all. I rescue him an pulled him into this new life, a life of freedom and feeling.
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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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His eyes are the color of honey. These are the eyes I remember from my dreams.
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Take it from me: If you hear the past speaking to you, feel it tugging up your back and runing its fingers up your spine, the best thing to do-the only thing-is run.
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It's like there's a filter set up in my brain, except instead of making things better, it twists everything around so what comes out of my mouth is totally wrong, totally different from what I was thinking.
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Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge.
Lauren Oliver
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The second time my world exploded, it was also because of a word. A word that worked its way out of my throat and danced onto and out of my lips before I could think about it, or stop it. The question was: Will you meet me tomorrow? And the word was: Yes.
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I love you. Remember. And someday, I will find you again.
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The last laugh, the last cup of coffee, the last sunset, the last time you jump through a sprinkler, or eat an ice-cream cone, or stick your tongue out to catch a snowflake. You just don't know.
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...and once at Hana's house, when we stole some blackberry liqueur from her parents' liquor cabinet and drank until the ceiling started spinning overhead. Hana was laughing and giggling, but I didn't like it, didn't like the sweet sick taste in my mouth or the way my thoughts seemed to break apart like a mist in the sun.
Lauren Oliver