Quote

Please understand. Please forgive me. I prayed every day for you to be alive, until hope became painful. Don't hate me. I still love you.

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
Understand
Prayed
Hate
Forgive
Stills
Forgiving
Still
Painful
Every
Became
Love
Please
Alive
Hope

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It occurs to me that for a long time she has been doing her own version of resisting.
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I'd rather die on my own terms than live on theirs. I'd rather die loving Alex than live without him.
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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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I cry for everything I abandoned and because I, too, have been left behind -- by Alex, by my mom, by time that has cut through our worlds and separated us.
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I wonder if this is how people always get close: They heal each other's wounds they repair the broken skin.
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I’m sorry for everything.” Then he turns and pushes back into the woods, and he’s gone.
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Stupid how the mind will try to distract itself.
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No wonder the regulators decided on segregation of boys and girls: Otherwise, it would have been a nightmare, this feeling angry and self-conscious and confused and annoyed all the time.
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Snapshots, moments, mere seconds: as fragile and beautiful and hopeless as a single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind.
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anything, anything is possible, if you can just see the sky.
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Time jumps. It leaps. It pours away like water through fingers.
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Life isn't life if you just float through it.
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I'll find you, he says, watching me with the eyes I remember. I won't let you go again
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Rainstorms are incredible: falling shards of glass, the air full of diamonds.
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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.
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But...books are so much more. Some of them are webs you can feel your way along their threads, but just barely, into strange and dark corners. Some of them are balloons bobbing up through the sky: totally self-contained, and unreachable, but beautiful to watch. And some of them―the best ones―are doors.
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No guy in his right mind would ever choose me when there are people like Hana in the world: It would be like settling for a stale cookie when what you really want is a big bowl of ice cream, whipped cream and cherries and chocolate sprinkles included.
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That's when you really lose people, you know.When the pain passes.
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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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I can admit, now, that I must have loved Lena. Not in an Unnatural way, but my feelings for her must have been a kind of sickness. How can someone have the power to shatter you to dust--and also to make you feel so whole?
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