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People are like ants: Just a few of them give all the orders. And most of them spend their lives getting squashed.

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
Getting
Lives
Order
Give
Giving
Squashed
Like
Ants
People
Orders
Spend

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anything, anything is possible, if you can just see the sky.
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Nothing has ever been so painful or delicious as being so close to him and being unable to do anything about it: like eating ice cream so fast on a hot day you get a splitting headache.
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One of the strangest things about life is that it will chug on, blind and oblivious, even as your private world - your little carved-out sphere - is twisting and morphing, even breaking apart.
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The old Lena is dead.
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This is what happens when you try to help people. You get screwed.
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Promise me we'll stay together, okay? His eyes are once again the clear blue of a perfectly transparent pool. They are eyes to swim in, to float in, forever. You and me. I promise. I say. behind us the door creaks open, and I turn around, expecting Raven, just as a voice cuts through the air: Don't believe her.
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Love: It will kill you and save you, both
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Each step is more difficult than the last the heaviness fills me and turns my limbs to stone. You must hurt or be hurt.
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Hate isn’t the most dangerous thing, he’d said. Indifference is.
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Fred is officially the mayor of Portland now.
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I wonder whether she was sorry for leaving us behind.
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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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Once Mo had closed the gates, he returned to his little stone hut, and his half-eaten sandwich of butter and canned sardines, and his mug of thick hot chocolate, which every night he poured carefully into a thermos labeled COFFEE.
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The idea—the fact of it, the fact that he even noticed and thought about me for more than one second—is huge and overwhelming, makes my legs go tingly and my hands feel numb.
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My heart is fluid and soaring. There's no longer any space between heartbeats.
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People are like houses. They could open their doors. You could walk through their rooms and touch the objects hidden in their corners. But something--the structure, the wiring, the invisible mechanism that kept the whole thing standing--remai ned invisible, suggested only by the fact of its existing at all.
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There are some losses we never get over.
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I guess that’s just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up.
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An eye for an eye. And the whole world goes blind, Coral puts in quietly.
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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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