Lauren Oliver Quotes

I need to live my life in the light of their deaths. I need to live.

He looked at me like I was beautiful.

In one of the tents, Julian is sleeping. And in another: Alex

There were days I asked for it-prayed for it when I went to sleep. The belief that I would see you again, that I could find you-the hope for it-was the only thing that kept me going.

Because if it weren’t for me, Lena and Alex would never have been caught at all. I told on them. I was jealous.

For a moment, my heart aches for him. I should never have asked him to join me here; I should never have asked him to cross.

I’m with Julian,” I say at last. This, after all, is what I have chosen.

There are some losses we never get over.

The mark of the procedure. A real one. Lu is cured.

We leave Pippa behind, standing in the dark, teeming bowels of the camp, while the sun begins to stain the sky electric, and from all sides the guns draw closer.

Until, one day, she wasn’t.

I think of Grace and feel a sharp pain in my chest.

Alex is dead, do you hear me? All of that-what we felt, what it meant- that's done now, okay? Buried. Blown away.

But if you do believe, then you already know all about magic.

The Wilds aren't safe anymore.

I didn’t know it would be like this,” he says in a whisper. And then: “I’m scared.

Fred is officially the mayor of Portland now.

They didn’t get me, I should have said. They saved me.

For a split second, he had looked almost like my Alex again.

It is a ruined-world, a nonsense-place.

Nobody ever said life was fair.

I’ve been trying so hard not to think his name, not to even breathe the idea of him

It's the way he says my name: like music.

The salt blowing off the sea makes the air feel textured and heavy.

A string of bright white buildinh, glistening like teeth over the slurping mouth of the ocean.

We're killers, all of us: We kill our lives, our past selves, the things that mattered. We bury them under slogans and excuses.

It's amazing how words can do that, just shred your insides apart. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me - such bullshit.

That's all I want. Just you and me. Always.

I hate skin; I hate bones and bodies. I want to curl up inside of him and be carried there forever.

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.

It's too late. I've seen things...I've lost things you can't understand.

It's funny how you can know your friends so well, but you still end up playing the same games with them.

Mice? Fine. Flying mice? Not so fine.

A room full of words that are nearly the truth but not quite, each note fluttering off the steam of its rose like a broken butterfly wing.

That's the way I feel, at least: like there's a real me and a reflection of me, and I have no way of telling which is which.

Here's another thing to remember: hope keeps you alive. Even when you're dead, it's the only thing that keeps you alive.

My boyfriend's an idiot," I say as soon as he lurches away."A cute idiot," Ally corrects me."That's like saying 'a cute mutant.' Doesn't exist.

Requiem has been controversial because people dont feel I gave it closure.

My parents were pretty liberal, but they were still parents. I definitely had my teenage rebellion.

This was what true fear was--that you could never know other people, not completely. That you were always just guessing blind.

I think of the quietness of Julian's voice as he said I love you, the steadiness of his rib cage rising and falling against my back, as we sleep.I love you, Julian. But the words don't come.

No one can tell us no. No one can make us stop. We have picked each other and the rest of the world can go to hell.

Why couldn't you let me have it? Why did you have to take it? Why did you always take everything?

You must hurt, or be hurt.

I will make a pact with you: I will do it if you will do it, always and forever. Take down the walls.

You have to learn that people are always listening.

It's as though the words are trapped, buried under past fears, past lives, like fossils compressed under layers of dirt.

There's always some relief in giving up.

Amazing how hope lives. Without air or water, with hardly anything at all to nurture it.

Maybe, the hope said. Maybe.