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In one of the tents, Julian is sleeping. And in another: Alex
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
Sleeping
Sleep
Another
Julian
Tents
Alex
More quotes by Lauren Oliver
People are like houses. They could open their doors. You could walk through their rooms and touch the objects hidden in their corners. But something--the structure, the wiring, the invisible mechanism that kept the whole thing standing--remai ned invisible, suggested only by the fact of its existing at all.
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There is no before. There is only now, and what comes next.
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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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Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge.
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But the guilt goes even deeper than that. It, too, is dust: Layers and layers of it have accumulated. Because if it weren’t for me, Lena and Alex would never have been caught at all. I told on them. I was jealous. God forgive me, for I have sinned.
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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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That's my favorite thing about him. I like to lie next to him when it's late, dark, and so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat. It's times like that when I'm sure that I'm in love.
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I need to live my life in the light of their deaths. I need to live.
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I hate both of my parents right now: for sitting quietly in our house, while out in the darkness my heart was beating away all of the seconds of my life, ticking them off one by one until my time was up for letting the thread between us stretch so far and so thin that the moment it was severed for good they didn't even feel it.
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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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It was a bird. A bird struggling through stickiness: a bird coated in paint, floundering in its nest, splashing color everywhere. Red. Red. Red. Dozens of them: black feathers coated thickly with crimson-colored paint, fluttering among the branches. Red means run.
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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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And you can't love, not fully, unless you are loved in return.
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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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It will kill me, it will kill me, it will kill me. And I don't care.
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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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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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This is what hatred is. It will feed you and at the same time turn you to rot.
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You see, we didn't know.
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And how she looked at me like I could save her from everything bad in he world. This was my secret: she was the one who saved me
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