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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.

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
Brought
Feeling
Freedom
Feelings
Kidnapping
Life
Pulled
Rescue
Kiss
Kissing

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When we get out of highschool we'll look back and know we did everything right, that we kissed the cutest boys and went to the best parties, got in just enough trouble, listened to our music too loud, smoked too many cigarettes, and drank too much and laughed too much and listened too little, or not al all.
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This was what being cured was like: like being in a fishbowl, circling always inside the same glass.
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It's not my fault I can't be like you, okay? I don't get up in the morning thinking the world is one big, shiny, happy place, okay? That's just not how I work. I don't think I can be fixed.
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I start to back away before I do something wildly inappropriate, like jump on top of him.
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It was as though the darkness was a sheet of raw cookie dough and someone had just taken a cookie cutter and made a child-sized shape out of it.
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Maybe next time, but probably not.
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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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I know the past will drag you backward and down, have you snatching at whispers of wind and the gibberish of trees rubbing together, trying to decipher some code, trying to piece together what was broken. It's hopeless. The past is nothing but a weight. It will build inside you like a stone.
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Huamns, uregulated, are cruel and capricious violet and selfish miserable and quarrelsome. It is only after their instincts and basic emotions have been controlled that they can be happy, generous, and good.
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Old words words that nearly brought me to my knees. Live free or die
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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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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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only when it rains. and sometimes, too, when i remember.
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Promise me we'll stay together, okay? His eyes are once again the clear blue of a perfectly transparent pool. They are eyes to swim in, to float in, forever. You and me. I promise. I say. behind us the door creaks open, and I turn around, expecting Raven, just as a voice cuts through the air: Don't believe her.
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But you can build a future out of anything. A scrap, a flicker. The desire to go forward, slowly, one foot at a time. You can build an airy city out of ruins.
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That’s just the kind of thing that kids do to each other. It’s no big deal. There’s always going to be a person laughing and somebody getting laughed at. It happens every day, in every school, in every town in America—probably in the world, for all I know. The whole point of growing up is learning to stay on the laughing side.
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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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I’m sorry for everything.” Then he turns and pushes back into the woods, and he’s gone.
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He is my world and my world is him and without him there is no world.
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His secret name, which belongs to me, and to him, and to no one else.
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