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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: 42
Born: 1982
Born: November 8
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Westchester County
New York
Woods
Sorry
Gone
Turns
Back
Everything
Pushes

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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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They’d already taken her from me once. I didn’t want to lose her again.
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My parents were pretty liberal, but they were still parents. I definitely had my teenage rebellion.
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Direction, like time, is a general thing, the deprived of boundaries and borders. It is an endless process interception and reinterception, doubling back and adjusting.
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My heart shoots into my throat every time I think I see his loping walk, or catch sight of some floppy brown hair on a boy - but it's never him, and each time it isn't, my heart does a reverse trajectory down into the very pit of my stomach.
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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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When he speaks again, I can tell that he's smiling. So I guess we saved each other.
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The sparrows jumped before they knew how to fly, and they learned to fly only because they had jumped.
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I wonder whether she was sorry for leaving us behind.
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The last laugh, the last cup of coffee, the last sunset, the last time you jump through a sprinkler, or eat an ice-cream cone, or stick your tongue out to catch a snowflake. You just don't know.
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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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i suppose that's the secret, if you're ever wishing for things to back the way they were. You just have to look up.
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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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It's Connecticut: being like the people around you is the whole point.
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His secret name, which belongs to me, and to him, and to no one else.
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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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I’m with Julian,” I say at last. This, after all, is what I have chosen.
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...and once at Hana's house, when we stole some blackberry liqueur from her parents' liquor cabinet and drank until the ceiling started spinning overhead. Hana was laughing and giggling, but I didn't like it, didn't like the sweet sick taste in my mouth or the way my thoughts seemed to break apart like a mist in the sun.
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