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They didn’t get me, I should have said. They saved me.

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
Didn
Saved

More quotes by Lauren Oliver

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Sometimes I feel like she deserves a best friend who is just a little more special.
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Fridays are the hardest in some ways: you’re so close to freedom.
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I feel a flash of grief so intense it almost makes me cry out: not for what I lost, but for the chances I missed.
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That's when you really lose people, you know.When the pain passes.
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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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That's what Zombieland is: frozen, calm, quiet.
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People need other people to feel things for them, she said. It gets lonely to feel things all by yourself.
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His eyes are the color of honey. These are the eyes I remember from my dreams.
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It was unfair that people could pretend to be one thing when they were really something else. That they would get you on their side and then do nothing but fail, and fail, and fail again. People should come with warnings, like cigarette packs: involvement would kill you over time.
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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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It's as though the words are trapped, buried under past fears, past lives, like fossils compressed under layers of dirt.
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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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Poetry isn't like any writing I've ever heard before. I don't understand all of it, just bits of images, sentences that appear half-finished, all fluttering together like brightly colored ribbons in the wind.
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Love obeys no laws other than its own.
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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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For a moment, my heart aches for him. I should never have asked him to join me here I should never have asked him to cross.
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That was what her parents did not understand—and had never understood—about stories. Liza told herself storied as though she was weaving and knotting an endless rope. Then, no matter how dark or terrible the pit she found herself in, she could pull herself out, inch by inch and hand over hand, on the long rope of stories.
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If singing were a feeling it would be this, this light, this lifting, like laughing.
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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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Hope keeps you alive.
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