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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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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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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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Po flickered. Thank you? it repeated. What is that? Liesl thought. It means, You were wonderful, she said. It means, I couldn't have done it without you.
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Maybe all of these different possibilities exist at the same time, like each moment we live has a thousand other moments layered underneath it that look different.
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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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Funny how certain things stay with you.
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Nothing exists but him.
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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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This is the strange way of the world, that people who simply want to love are instead forced to become warriors.
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Life isn't life if you just float through it.
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I don't love you, Lena. Do you hear me? I never love you.
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Perhaps this was how the sparrows did it too perhaps they were looking so hard at the peaks and tips of the new rooftops coated with dew, and the vast new horizon, that they only forgot that they did not know how to fly until they were already in midair.
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Sarah: Not bad. You look almost human. Lena: Thanks. Sarah: I said almost. Lena: Well, then, almost thanks.
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Alex is dead, do you hear me? All of that-what we felt, what it meant- that's done now, okay? Buried. Blown away.
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It's funny how you can know your friends so well, but you still end up playing the same games with them.
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It was all very strange, Mr. Gray thought, as he wiped the coffee canister clean with a sponge. Very, very mysterious. You were born you lived a whole life and at the end, you wound up in a coffee canister. Ah, well, he said out loud quietly. That's just the way things are. Life's a funny business. Death, he supposed, was the punch line.
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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’m with Julian,” I say at last. This, after all, is what I have chosen.
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If you cross a line and nothing happens, the line loses meaning.
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Of all the miracles Po had seen in the time and space of its death, Po thought this--the absorption of another, the carrying of it--was the most bewildering and remarkable of all. Whenever Bundle separated again, Po was left with an ache of sadness that reminded the ghost of the body it had left behind.
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