He looks at me, and I don't know what he sees. I used to think it was Rose. But she's not here with us now, in this room. It's just him and me, and the books. I feel like our lives are in those books. I feel like all the words on the pages are for us.
It doesn't matter how much his mother loves him; love is not enough to keep any of us alive.
I wish I had a memory of that first violent shove, the shock of cold air, the sting of oxygen into new lungs. Everyone should remember being born. It doesn't seem fair that we only remember dying.
We'll squeeze every second that we can from our lives, because we're young, and we have plenty of years to grow. We'll grow until we're braver. We'll grow until our bones ache and our skin wrinkles and our hair goes white, and until our hearts decide, at last, that it's time to stop.
There is a silence so great that I can hear the ice crystals cracking and falling from eyelashes of girls who will never blink again.
When we're alive, life consumes us. But when we die, all of the color and the motion is gone so quickly, it's as though it can no longer stand to be wasted on us.
She's been conned, ruined, left for dead, and she's not going to forgive any of it. She will soldier on, if only out of spite.
Tell freedom I said hello.
Maybe hope isn't the most dangerous thing a person can have. Maybe love is.
Hope, that risky, illustrious thing. It should have gone extinct by now, but we keep it alive.
Because even if the lie is beautiful, the truth is what you face in the end.
Momentum,' She repeats. 'You can't just stand there if you want something to fly. You have to run.
A feeling can't kill you.
We writers are resilient souls.
I think she's brave. I think that nobody has ever believed what she could be capable of. All her life, nobody was listening.