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Gym should be illegal. It's humiliating.
Laurie Halse Anderson
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Laurie Halse Anderson
Age: 63
Born: 1961
Born: October 23
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Laurie Beth Halse
Humiliating
Gym
Illegal
More quotes by Laurie Halse Anderson
I won the wintergirl trip over the border into dangerland.
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Didn't help to ponder things that were forever gone. It only made a body restless and fill up with bees, all wanting to sting something.
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I swallowed the fear. It’s always there– fear– and if you don’t stay on top of it, you’ll drown. I swallowed again and stood tall, shoulders broad, arms loose. I was balanced, ready to move. My body said, “Yeah, you’re bigger and stronger, but if you touch this, I will hurt you.
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I am not going to think about it. It was ugly, but it’s over, and I’m not going to think about it.
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Why are you being so mean? Friends tell friends the truth. yeah, but not to hurt, to help.
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Dead girl walking” the boys say in the halls. “Tell us your secrets” the girls whisper, one toilet to another. I am that girl. I am the spaces between my thighs, daylight shinning through. I am the bones they want, wired on a porcelain frame.
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A breath of steam trickles out, filled with the sobs of a grown woman breaking into girl-sized pieces.
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I don’t know what I’m doing in the next five minutes and she has the next ten years figured out. I’ll worry about making it out of ninth grade alive. Then I’ll think about a career path.
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Be careful what you wish for. There's always a catch.
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This is wonderful, wonderful! Be the bird. You are the bird. Sacrifice yourself to abandoned family values.
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I stand in the center aisle of the auditorium, a wounded zebra in a National Geographic special, looking for someone, anyone to sit next to. A predator approaches: gray jock buzz cut, whistle around a neck thicker than his head. Probably a social studies teacher, hired to coach a blood sport.
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I want to tell him that it's just a stupid car, but bits of me are scattered all over town the graveyard, school, Cassie's room, the motel, and standing in from of the sink in my mother's kitchen. It takes too much energy to gather all the bits together, so I just sit there and watch him implode.
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Everybody told me to be a man. Nobody told me how.
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I'm the only one sitting alone, under the glowing neon sign which reads, Complete and Total Loser, Not Quite Sane. Stay Away. Do Not Feed.
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I need to finish this scarf/shawl/blanket thing so I can start something for Emma- a hat, maybe, or a sweater for her stuffed elephant.
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Death is funny, when you think about it. Everybody does it, but nobody knows how, exactly how.
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Nicole can do anything that involves a ball and whistle.
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I’m the girl who trips on the dance floor and can’t find her way to the exit. All eyes on me.
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My English teacher has no face. She has uncombed stringy hair that droops on her shoulders. The hair is black from her part to her ears and then neon orange to the frizzy ends. I can't decide if she had pissed off her hairdresser or is morphing into a monarch butterfly. I call her Hairwoman.
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It is easier not to say anything. Shut your trap, button your lip, can it. All that crap you hear on TV about communication and expressing feelings is a lie. Nobody really wants to hear what you have to say.
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