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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
Sorry
Gone
Turns
Back
Everything
Pushes
Woods

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It's the way he says my name: like music.
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So far I've seen the life studies packet used as (1) an umbrella, (2) a makeshift towel, (3) a pillow, and now this. I have never actually seen anyone study with it, which either means that everyone who graduates from Thomas Jefferson will be totally unprepared for life or that certain things can't be learned in bullet-point format.
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He looked at me like I was beautiful.
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I'm starved for different light, a different sun,different sky.
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The first time I saw you, at the Governor, I handn't been to watch the birds at the border in years. But that's what you reminded me of. You were jumping up, and you were yelling something, and your hair was coming loose from your ponytail, and you were so fast... He shakes his head. Just a flash, and then you were gone, Exactly like a bird.
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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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It won't matter if nobody ever thinks I'm pretty (although sometimes I wish, just for a second, that somebody would)
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That's the thing about faith. It works.
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Then I think of the dark, and the lights, and the roaring, and Juliet, and before I can think of anything else, I fight the final few steps to the door and step out into the cold, where the rain is still coming down like shards of moonlight, or like steel.
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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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Maybe this is the secret to talking to boys--maybe you just have to be angry all the time.
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Raven jerks and stiffens. For a second, I think she is only surprised: Her mouth goes round, her eyes wide. Then she begins teetering backward, and I know that she is dead. Falling, falling, falling . . .
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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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But if you do believe, then you already know all about magic.
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I still wanted to know why. As though somebody was going to answer that for me, as though any answer would be satisfying.
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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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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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Grief is like sinking, like being buried.
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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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There is no before. There is only now, and what comes next.
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