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But maybe happiness isn't in the choosing. Maybe it's in the fiction, in the pretending: that wherever we have ended up is where we intended to be all along.

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
Pretending
Ended
Wherever
Along
Fiction
Maybe
Requiem
Happiness
Choosing
Intended

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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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For the first time in my life I actually feel sorry for Carol. I'm only seventeen years old, and I already know something she doesn't know: I know that life isn't life if you just float through it. I know that the whole point- the only point- is to find things that matter, and hold on to them, and fight for them, and refuse to let them go.
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I said, I prefer the ocean when it's gray. Or not really gray. A pale, in-between color. It reminds me of waiting for something good to happen.
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I'd rather die on my own terms than live on theirs. I'd rather die loving Alex than live without him.
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Of course. That's what people do in a disordered world, a world of freedom and choice: they leave when they want. They disappear, they come back, they leave again. And you are left to pick up the pieces on your own.
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The question was: Will you meet me tomorrow? And the word was: Yes.
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This is not the person I wanted to become: Hatred has carved a permanent place inside me, a hollow where things are so easily lost.
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My heart is fluid and soaring. There's no longer any space between heartbeats.
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I don't love you, Lena. Do you hear me? I never love you.
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....love and desire enjoy a symbiotic relationship, meaning that one cannot exist without the other. Desire is an enemy to contentment desire is illness, a feverish brain. Who can be considered healthy who wants? The very word want suggests a lack, an impoverishment, and that is what desire is: an impoverishment of the brain, a flaw, a mistake.
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We should be protected from the people who will leave us in the end, from all the people who will disappear or forget us.
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I just want to be normal, like everybody else. Are you sure that being like everybody else will make you happy?
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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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I love you. They can't take it away.
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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 a miracle I was able to get out of the house today. It's a miracle I'm even wearing pants, a double miracle I remembered to wear shoes.
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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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What glitters may not be gold and even wolves may smile and fools will be led by promises to their deaths.
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Requiem has been controversial because people dont feel I gave it closure.
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Time jumps. It leaps. It pours away like water through fingers.
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