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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.

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
Lost
Place
Become
Carved
Persons
Hollow
Person
Permanent
Wanted
Easily
Things
Hatred
Inside

More quotes by Lauren Oliver

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It was a bird. A bird struggling through stickiness: a bird coated in paint, floundering in its nest, splashing color everywhere. Red. Red. Red. Dozens of them: black feathers coated thickly with crimson-colored paint, fluttering among the branches. Red means run.
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That's my favorite thing about him. I like to lie next to him when it's late, dark, and so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat. It's times like that when I'm sure that I'm in love.
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It was all very strange, Mr. Gray thought, as he wiped the coffee canister clean with a sponge. Very, very mysterious. You were born you lived a whole life and at the end, you wound up in a coffee canister. Ah, well, he said out loud quietly. That's just the way things are. Life's a funny business. Death, he supposed, was the punch line.
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We should be protected from the people who will leave us in the end, from all the people who will disappear or forget us.
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Welcome to the free world. We give people the power to choose. They can even choose the wrong thing. Beautiful, isn't it?
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I love you. They can't take it away.
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Everywhere he touches is fire. My whole body is burning up, the two of us becoming twin points of the same bright white flame.
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I am now officially married to Fred Hargrove. Nothing will ever be the same.
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As we're standing there I realize we're almost exactly the same height. We must look like the dark and light side of an Oreo cookie, and I think how just as easily it could have been the other way around. She could be blocking my path I could be trying to slip around her into the dark.
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This is the strange way of the world, that people who simply want to love are instead forced to become warriors.
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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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But if you do believe, then you already know all about magic.
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Hope keeps you alive.
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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 realize that most of it-life, the relentless mechanism of existing-isn't about you. It doesn't include you at all. It will thrust onward even after you've jumped the edge. Even after you're dead.
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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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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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Huamns, uregulated, are cruel and capricious violet and selfish miserable and quarrelsome. It is only after their instincts and basic emotions have been controlled that they can be happy, generous, and good.
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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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I still wanted to know why. As though somebody was going to answer that for me, as though any answer would be satisfying.
Lauren Oliver