Lauren Oliver Quotes - Page 3

Things change after you die, though, I guess because dying is the loneliest thing you can do.

What glitters may not be gold; and even wolves may smile; and fools will be led by promises to their deaths.

Maybe before you die, it's your ghosts you see.

They say that just before you die your whole life flashes before your eyes, but that's not how it happened for me.

Let me tell you something about dying: it's not as bad as they says.

it's the coming-back-to-life part that hurts.

Two weeks until your cure" she says finally. "Sixteen days" I say, but in my head I'm counting: Seven days. Seven days until I'm free and away from all these people and their sliding superficial lives brushing past one another gliding, gliding, gliding from life to death. For them there's hardly a change between the two.

Of all the miracles Po had seen in the time and space of its death, Po thought this-the absorption of another, the carrying of it-was the most bewildering and remarkable of all. Whenever Bundle separated again, Po was left with an ache of sadness that reminded the ghost of the body it had left behind.

But before you start pointing fingers, let me ask you: is what I did really so bad? So bad I deserved to die? So bad I deserved to die like that?
Is what I did really so much worse than what anybody else does?
Is it really so much worse than what you do?
Think about it.

But you can build a future out of anything. A scrap, a flicker. The desire to go forward, slowly, one foot at a time. You can build an airy city out of ruins.

Hope keeps you alive.

Aquí hay algo más que recordar: la esperanza te mantiene viva. Incluso cuando estás muerta, es lo único que te mantiene viva.

No guest rooms.” I shake my head resolutely. “I want to be in a room room. A lived-in room.

Are you sure you can't dematerialize? Not even a little?"
"I'm sure.

Poetry isn't like any writing I've ever heard before. I don't understand all of it, just bits of images, sentences that appear half-finished, all fluttering together like brightly colored ribbons in the wind.

And it's the funniest thing: as soon as I see it, the whistling in my ears stops and the feeling of terror drains away, and I realize this whole time I haven't been falling at all. I've been floating.

It's amazing how close I have been, all this time, to my old life. And yet the distance that divides me from it is vast.

With the cure, relationships are all the same, and rules and expectations are defined. Without the cure, relationships must be reinvented every day, languages constantly decoded and deciphered. Freedom is exhausting.

Everyone just wasting time because they have so much of it to waste, minutes slipping by on who's with who and did you hear.

The hours here are flat and round, disks of gray layered one on top of the other...they move slowly, at a grind, until it seems as though they are not moving at all. They are just pressing down...

Maybe you can afford to wait. Maybe for you there's a tomorrow. Maybe for you there's one thousand tomorrows, or three thousand, or ten, so much time you can bathe in it, roll around in it, let it slide like coins through your fingers. So much time you can waste it.
But for some there's only today. And the truth is, you never really know.