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I’m sorry for everything.” Then he turns and pushes back into the woods, and he’s gone.

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
Gone
Turns
Back
Everything
Pushes
Woods
Sorry

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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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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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Requiem has been controversial because people dont feel I gave it closure.
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Less than a month ago all of August still stretched before us - long and golden and reassuring, like an endless period of delicious sleep.
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People could push and pull at you, and poke you, and probe as deep as they could go. They could even tear you apart, bit by bit. But at the heart and root and soul of you, something would remain untouched.
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This is the past: It drifts, it gathers. If you are not careful, it will bury you.
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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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That's what time does: We stand stubbornly like rocks while it flows all around us, believing that we are immutable - and all the time we're being carved, and shaped, and whittled away.
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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'm used to a feeling of doubleness, of thinking one thing and having to do another, a constant tug-of-war.
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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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that's what it was like waking up in the crypts. no-longer-dead. but without her. like burning alive.
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Raven has lost deeply, again and again, and she, too, has buried herself. There are pieces of her scattered all over. Her heart is nestled next to a small set of bones buried beside a frozen river, which will emerge with the spring thaw, a skeleton ship rising out of the water”.
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I need to live my life in the light of their deaths. I need to live.
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The thing is, you don't get to know. It's not like you wake up with a bad feeling in your stomach. You don't see shadows where there shouldn't be any. You don't remember to tell your parents you love them or--in my case--remember to say good-bye to them at all.
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Each step is more difficult than the last the heaviness fills me and turns my limbs to stone. You must hurt or be hurt.
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They’d already taken her from me once. I didn’t want to lose her again.
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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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