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But how could anyone who's ever seen a summer - big explosion of green and skies lit up electric with splashy sunsets, a riot of flowers and wind that smells like honey - pick the snow?

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
Like
Summer
Electric
Sunsets
Green
Honey
Explosion
Flower
Flowers
Smells
Wind
Snow
Lit
Seen
Pick
Riot
Anyone
Smell
Explosions
Bigs
Picks
Skies
Ever
Sky
Sunset

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It's the way he says my name: like music.
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Feelings aren't forever. Time waits for no one, but progress waits for man to enact it.
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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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If you cross a line and nothing happens, the line loses meaning.
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No one can tell us no. No one can make us stop. We have picked each other and the rest of the world can go to hell.
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Maybe before you die, it's your ghosts you see.
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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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Alex loved books. He was the one who first introduced me to poetry. That's another reason I can't read anymore.
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The mark of the procedure. A real one. Lu is cured.
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I know some of you are Thinking maybe I deserved it. But before you start pointing Fringers, let me ask you Is what I did really so bad? So bad I deserved to die? So bad I deserved to die like that? Is what I did really much worse Then what anybody else does? Is it really so much worse Than what you do?
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I don't know where to go. I don't know what comes now. Don't worry, Will said. We'll figure something out. Liesl managed to smile at him. She liked that word: *we*. It sounded warm and open, like a hug.
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I need to live my life in the light of their deaths. I need to live.
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And there it is: Even though we’re standing in the same patch of sun-drenched pavement, we might as well be a hundred thousand miles apart.
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....love and desire enjoy a symbiotic relationship, meaning that one cannot exist without the other. Desire is an enemy to contentment desire is illness, a feverish brain. Who can be considered healthy who wants? The very word want suggests a lack, an impoverishment, and that is what desire is: an impoverishment of the brain, a flaw, a mistake.
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Hope keeps you alive.
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Be honest: Are you surprised that I didn't realize sooner? Are you surprised that it took me so long to even /think/ the word -- death? Dying? Dead? Do you think I was being stupid? Naive? Try not to judge. Remember that we're the same, you and me. I thought I would live forever too.
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That's the thing about faith. It works.
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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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This is pretty much the answer to every problem you encounter in suburbia: plant a tree, and hope you don't see anyone's privates.
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