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It's as though the words are trapped, buried under past fears, past lives, like fossils compressed under layers of dirt.

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
Trapped
Like
Dirt
Buried
Fears
Though
Compressed
Words
Fossils
Lives
Layers
Past

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It's a miracle I was able to get out of the house today. It's a miracle I'm even wearing pants, a double miracle I remembered to wear shoes.
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But the guilt goes even deeper than that. It, too, is dust: Layers and layers of it have accumulated. Because if it weren’t for me, Lena and Alex would never have been caught at all. I told on them. I was jealous. God forgive me, for I have sinned.
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That's the thing: We didn't really care. A world without love is also a world without stakes.
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And you should hear the music. Incredible, amazing music, like nothing you've ever heard, music that almost takes your head off, you know? That makes you want to scream and jump up and down and break stuff and cry.
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You can try to pin me down with a hundred thousand arms, but I will find a way to resist
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Love: It will kill you and save you, both
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Black is too morbid red will set them on edge pink is too juvenile orange is freakish
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If you cross a line and nothing happens, the line loses meaning.
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Stupid how the mind will try to distract itself.
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I don't love you, Lena. Do you hear me? I never love you.
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Most of the time one night blends into the next and weeks blend into weeks and months into other months. And sooner or later we all die. But at the beginning of the night anything’s possible.
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Love. I love you. I’ll always love you, my love. You are the love of my life.
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They’d already taken her from me once. I didn’t want to lose her again.
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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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Let me tell you something about dying: it's not as bad as they says. it's the coming-back-to-life part that hurts.
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I've learned to get really good at this - say one thing when I'm thinking about something else, act like I'm listening when I'm not, pretend to be calm and happy when I'm really freaking out. It's one of the skills you perfect as you get older
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Love, the deadliest of all things: It kills you both when you have it and when you don't. But that isn't it, exactly. The condemner and the condemned. The executioner the blade the last-minute reprieve the gasping breath and the rolling sky above you and the thank you, thank you, thank you God. Love: It will kill you and save you, both.
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That's the beauty of the cure. No one mentions those lost, hot days in the field, when Thomas kissed Rachel's tears away and invented worlds just so he could promise them to her, when she tore the skin off her own arm at the thought of living without him.
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I'm starved for different light, a different sun,different sky.
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No guest rooms.” I shake my head resolutely. “I want to be in a room room. A lived-in room.
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