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The tunnels may be long, and twisted, and dark but you are supposed to go through them.

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
Tunnels
Twisted
Supposed
Dark
May
Long

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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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Some things are better left buried and forgotten.
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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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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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Things would get difficult again. But that was okay too. The bravery was in moving forward, no matter what.
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Sometimes I'm afraid to go to sleep because of what I'm leaving behind.
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In one of the tents, Julian is sleeping. And in another: Alex
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That's when you realize that most of it-life, the relentless mechanism of existing-isn't about you. It doesn't include you at all. It will thrust onward even after you've jumped the edge. Even after you're dead.
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Lindsay calls them the Pugs: pretty from far away, ugly up close.
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People need other people to feel things for them, she said. It gets lonely to feel things all by yourself.
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And in that moment, the wordless thing passed between us, the thing that wasn't quite love but was so close I could believe in it sometimes.
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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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He was still in love with you, anyway.
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I remember Lena's expression when he knocked on the door and how Alex had looked at her when she finally let him into the storeroom. I remember exactly what he was wearing, too, and the mess of his hair, the sneakers with their blue-tinged laces. His right shoe was untied. He didn't notice. He didn't notice anything but Lena.
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Fridays are the hardest in some ways: you’re so close to freedom.
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Amazing how hope lives. Without air or water, with hardly anything at all to nurture it.
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I’ve never really had a party before.” “Why did you have one now?” I say, just to keep him talking. He gives a half laugh. “I thought if I had a party, you would come.
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Live free or die.
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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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