Quote

It was unfair that people could pretend to be one thing when they were really something else. That they would get you on their side and then do nothing but fail, and fail, and fail again. People should come with warnings, like cigarette packs: involvement would kill you over time.

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
Life
Else
Unfair
Like
Come
Warning
People
Nothing
Pretend
Thing
Fail
Something
Kill
Warnings
Really
Failing
Packs
Would
Side
Involvement
Time
Sides
Cigarette

More quotes by Lauren Oliver

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It will kill me, it will kill me, it will kill me. And I don't care.
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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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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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Black is too morbid red will set them on edge pink is too juvenile orange is freakish
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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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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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Someday she will be saved, and the past and all its pain will be rendered as smoothly palatable as the food we spoon to our babies.
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Lies are just stories, and stories are all that matter. We all tell stories. Some are more truthful than others, maybe, but in the end the only thing that counts is what you can make people believe.
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I start to follow her, and Alex grabs my hand. I'll find you, he says, watching me with the eyes I remember. I won't let you go again. I don't trust myself to speak. Instead I nod, hoping that he understands me. He squeezes my hand. Go, he says.
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The second time my world exploded, it was also because of a word. A word that worked its way out of my throat and danced onto and out of my lips before I could think about it, or stop it. The question was: Will you meet me tomorrow? And the word was: Yes.
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Hope keeps you alive.
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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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Amazing how hope lives. Without air or water, with hardly anything at all to nurture it.
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His eyes are the color of honey. These are the eyes I remember from my dreams.
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There's a place for everything and everyone, you know. That is the mistake they make above. They think that only certain people have a place. Only certain kinds of people belong. The rest is waste. But even waste must have a place. Otherwise it will clog and clot, and rot and fester.
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People need other people to feel things for them, she said. It gets lonely to feel things all by yourself.
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It's funny how you can know your friends so well, but you still end up playing the same games with them.
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It was a bird. A bird struggling through stickiness: a bird coated in paint, floundering in its nest, splashing color everywhere. Red. Red. Red. Dozens of them: black feathers coated thickly with crimson-colored paint, fluttering among the branches. Red means run.
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I am now officially married to Fred Hargrove. Nothing will ever be the same.
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It's an incredible thing, how you can feel so taken care of by someone and yet feel, also, like you would die or do anything just for the chance to protect him back.
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