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Quiet through the grave go I or else beneath the graves I lie

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
Beneath
Grave
Graves
Quiet
Lying
Else

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When he speaks again, I can tell that he's smiling. So I guess we saved each other.
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I've been so used to thinking of what the borders are keeping out that I haven't considered that they're also penning us in.
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Hope keeps you alive.
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Everything in me feels fluttering and free, like I could take off from the ground at any second. Music, I think, he makes me feel like music.
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Nobody ever said life was fair.
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That's the thing about faith. It works.
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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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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 just want to be normal, like everybody else. Are you sure that being like everybody else will make you happy?
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An eye for an eye. And the whole world goes blind, Coral puts in quietly.
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That’s just the kind of thing that kids do to each other. It’s no big deal. There’s always going to be a person laughing and somebody getting laughed at. It happens every day, in every school, in every town in America—probably in the world, for all I know. The whole point of growing up is learning to stay on the laughing side.
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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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In one of the tents, Julian is sleeping. And in another: Alex
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Love obeys no laws other than its own.
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Something must die so that others can live.
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The hours here are flat and round, disks of gray layered one on top of the other...they move slowly, at a grind, until it seems as though they are not moving at all. They are just pressing down.
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It's like a razor blade edging its way through my organs, shredding me, all I can think is: It will kill me, it will kill me, it will kill me. And I don't care.
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i think of all the thousands of billions of steps and missteps and chances and coincidences that have brought me here. Brought you here, and it feels like the biggest miracle in the world.
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Rainstorms are incredible: falling shards of glass, the air full of diamonds.
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Not gray, exactly. Right before the sun rises there's a moment when the whole sky goes this pale nothing color-not really gray but sort of, or sort of white, and I've always really liked it because it reminds me of waiting for something good to happen.
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