Quote

For a second I feel a rush of sadness: for the horizons that vanish behind us, for the people we leave behind, the tiny-doll selves that get stored away and ultimately buried.

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
Away
Buried
Doll
Self
Ultimately
Horizons
Feel
Sadness
Stored
Feels
Tiny
Vanish
People
Behinds
Dolls
Behind
Selves
Second
Rush
Leave
Horizon

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But...books are so much more. Some of them are webs you can feel your way along their threads, but just barely, into strange and dark corners. Some of them are balloons bobbing up through the sky: totally self-contained, and unreachable, but beautiful to watch. And some of them―the best ones―are doors.
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Love, the deadliest of all things: It kills you both when you have it and when you don't. But that isn't it, exactly. The condemner and the condemned. The executioner the blade the last-minute reprieve the gasping breath and the rolling sky above you and the thank you, thank you, thank you God. Love: It will kill you and save you, both.
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I don't know how i stay on my feet, why i dont just shatter into dust right there, why my heart keeps beating when i want it so badly to stop
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amazingly, i'd actually forgotten that i'm supposed to be plain. i'm so used to alex telling me i'm beautiful. i'm so used to feeling beautiful around him. a hollow opens up in my chest. this is what life will be like without him: everything will become ordinary again. i'll become ordinary again.
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All this time, I thought we were growing apart because I was leaving Lena behind. But really it was the reverse. She was learning to lie. She was learning to love.
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You don't reach points in life at which everything is sorted out for us. I believe in endings that should suggest our stories always continue.
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Please understand. Please forgive me. I prayed every day for you to be alive, until hope became painful. Don't hate me. I still love you.
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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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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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I guess that’s just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up.
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It occurs to me that for a long time she has been doing her own version of resisting.
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It's surprisingly nice out here, peaceful and pretty-strange to be standing in the middle of a little garden while enclosed by the massive stone walls of the prison, like being at the exact center of a hurricane, and finding peace and silence in the middle of so much shrieking damage.
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It's like high school holds two different worlds, revolving around each other an never touching the haves and the have-nots. I guess it's a good thing. High school is supposed to prepare you for the real world, after all.
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There is nothing else for people to do. They do not think. They feel no passion, no hatred, no sadness they feel nothing but fear, and a desire to control. So they watch, and poke, and pry.
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Nothing exists but him.
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