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Lindsay calls them the Pugs: pretty from far away, ugly up close.

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
Ugly
Close
Pretty
Away
Lindsay
Calls

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When he speaks again, I can tell that he's smiling. So I guess we saved each other.
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Nothing exists but him.
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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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Don't worry about what you're writing or whether it's good or even whether it makes sense.
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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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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’m sorry for everything.” Then he turns and pushes back into the woods, and he’s gone.
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Everyone just wasting time because they have so much of it to waste, minutes slipping by on who's with who and did you hear.
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Snapshots, moments, mere seconds: as fragile and beautiful and hopeless as a single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind.
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That's the thing about faith. It works.
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The kidnapping, the kiss. I brought him here, after all. I rescue him an pulled him into this new life, a life of freedom and feeling.
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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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And you can't love, not fully, unless you are loved in return.
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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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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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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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Funny how time heals. Like that bullet in my ribs. It's there, I know it's there, but I can barely feel it at all anymore.
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The first one, we’ll name Blue.
Lauren Oliver
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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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I start to back away before I do something wildly inappropriate, like jump on top of him.
Lauren Oliver