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Hope can make people do terrible things.

Tahereh Mafi

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Tahereh Mafi
Age: 36
Born: 1988
Born: November 9
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Connecticut
United States
Terrible
Hope
Make
Things
People

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The words get easier the moment you stop fearing them.
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It's hot rain and humid days and broken thermostats. It's screaming and raging steam engines and wanting to take your clothes off just to feel a breeze. It's the kind of kiss that makes you realize oxygen is overrated.
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The world is a mess and I want to laugh because all I can think is how horrible and beautiful it is, that our eyes blur the truth when we can't bear to see it.
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In a world where there is so much to grieve and so little good to take? I grieve nothing. I take everything.
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And some days I wonder why I insist on keeping myself alive.
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You are moody. It’s always ‘Shut up, Kenji.’ ‘Go to sleep, Kenji.’ ‘No one wants to see you naked, Kenji.’ When I know for a fact that there are thousands of people who would love to see me naked—
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I feel like I've been split open and stuffed with sunshine.
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I can do anything I want. Be with anyone I want. And it'll be my choice.
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Torture is not torture when there’s any hope of relief.
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Friendship is not a thing I have ever experienced. Not as a child, and not as I am now.
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A handful of letters doesn't always make a word, love.
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Only an idiot would rely on the energy of a bean or a leaf to stay awake throughout the day.
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All I ever wanted was to reach out and touch another human being not just with my hands but with my heart.
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Sometimes you have to learn how to shoot first.
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Time goes on even when we do not.
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I spent my life folded between the pages of books. In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters.
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His lips soften into a smile that cracks apart my spine. He repeats my name like the word amuses him. Entertains him. Delights him. In seventeen years no one has said my name like that
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My words wear no parachutes as they fall out of my mouth.
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Books are easily destroyed. But words will live as long as people can remember them.
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Raindrops are my only reminder that clouds have a heartbeat. That I have one, too.
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