Quote

We are always being pushed and squeezed down one road or another. We have no choice but to step forward, and then step forward again, and then step forward again suddenly we find ourselves on a road we haven't chosen at all.

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
Choice
Pushed
Steps
Chosen
Choices
Suddenly
Another
Road
Find
Havens
Always
Haven
Forward
Requiem
Step
Squeezed

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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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Snapshots, moments, mere seconds: as fragile and beautiful and hopeless as a single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind.
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I will make a pact with you: I will do it if you will do it, always and forever. Take down the walls.
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For the first time in my life I actually feel sorry for Carol. I'm only seventeen years old, and I already know something she doesn't know: I know that life isn't life if you just float through it. I know that the whole point- the only point- is to find things that matter, and hold on to them, and fight for them, and refuse to let them go.
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Music, I think, he makes me feel like music
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That's when you really lose people, you know.When the pain passes.
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The tunnels may be long, and twisted, and dark but you are supposed to go through them.
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This is not the person I wanted to become: Hatred has carved a permanent place inside me, a hollow where things are so easily lost.
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I remember Lena's expression when he knocked on the door and how Alex had looked at her when she finally let him into the storeroom. I remember exactly what he was wearing, too, and the mess of his hair, the sneakers with their blue-tinged laces. His right shoe was untied. He didn't notice. He didn't notice anything but Lena.
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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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Waste today, want tomorrow.
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I said, I prefer the ocean when it's gray. Or not really gray. A pale, in-between color. It reminds me of waiting for something good to happen.
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But if you do believe, then you already know all about magic.
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There's a place for everything and everyone, you know. That is the mistake they make above. They think that only certain people have a place. Only certain kinds of people belong. The rest is waste. But even waste must have a place. Otherwise it will clog and clot, and rot and fester.
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No guy in his right mind would ever choose me when there are people like Hana in the world: It would be like settling for a stale cookie when what you really want is a big bowl of ice cream, whipped cream and cherries and chocolate sprinkles included.
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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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I’m with Julian,” I say at last. This, after all, is what I have chosen.
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Love is a kind of possession. It’s a poison.
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There are some losses we never get over.
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It was as though the darkness was a sheet of raw cookie dough and someone had just taken a cookie cutter and made a child-sized shape out of it.
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