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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.

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
Thousand
Pavement
Though
Patch
Wells
Patches
Might
Apart
Well
Miles
Even
Sun
Standing
Hundred
Drenched

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For a moment, my heart aches for him. I should never have asked him to join me here I should never have asked him to cross.
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Time jumps. It leaps. It pours away like water through fingers.
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The question was: Will you meet me tomorrow? And the word was: Yes.
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Droplets, droplets: we are all identical drips and drops of people, hovering, waiting to be tipped, waiting for someone to show us the way, to pour us down a path.
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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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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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Lies are just stories, and stories are all that matter. We all tell stories. Some are more truthful than others, maybe, but in the end the only thing that counts is what you can make people believe.
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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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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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Everything looks beautiful. The Book of Shhh says that deliria alters your perception, disables your ability to reason clearly, impairs you from making sound judgments. But it does not tell you this: that love will turn the whole world into something greater than itself.
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I start to back away before I do something wildly inappropriate, like jump on top of him.
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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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I still wanted to know why. As though somebody was going to answer that for me, as though any answer would be satisfying.
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I've learned to get really good at this - say one thing when I'm thinking about something else, act like I'm listening when I'm not, pretend to be calm and happy when I'm really freaking out. It's one of the skills you perfect as you get older
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Love obeys no laws other than its own.
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It strikes me how strange people are. You can see them every day - you can think you know them - and then you fшnd out you hardly know them at all.
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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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