Both of us will die today, gunned down or smashed up or exploded in some terrible moment of fire and twisted metal, and when they go to bury us we'll be so melted together and entwined they won't be able to separate the bodies; pieces of him will go with me, and pieces of me will go with him.
The priests and the scientists are right about one thing: At our heart, at our base, we are no better than animals.
Raven has lost deeply, again and again, and she, too, has buried herself. There are pieces of her scattered all over. Her heart is nestled next to a small set of bones buried beside a frozen river, which will emerge with the spring thaw, a skeleton ship rising out of the water”.
Additionally, Liesl and Po is the embodiment of what writing has always been for me at its purest and most basic--not a paycheck, certainly; not an idea, even; and not an escape. Actually, it is the opposite of an escape; it is a way back in, a way to enter and make sense of a world that occasionally seems harsh and terrible and mystifying. (From the "Author's Note" at the end).
The idea—the fact of it, the fact that he even noticed and thought about me for more than one second—is huge and overwhelming, makes my legs go tingly and my hands feel numb.
It was a bird. A bird struggling through stickiness: a bird coated in paint, floundering in its nest, splashing color everywhere. Red. Red. Red. Dozens of them: black feathers coated thickly with crimson-colored paint, fluttering among the branches. Red means run.
Old words; words that nearly brought me to my knees. Live free or die
It strikes me how strange people are. You can see them every day - you can think you know them - and then you fшnd out you hardly know them at all.
Sometimes I feel like she deserves a best friend who is just a little more special.
I love you. They can't take it away.
It is war now, and armies need symbols.
Stupid how the mind will try to distract itself.
Holy mother of Lord Cocoa Puffs
Life isn't life if you just float through it.
I'm so tired after dinner I fall asleep with my clothes on, almost as soon as my head hits the pillow, and so I forget to ask God, in my prayers, to keep me from waking up.
The worst is knowing I can't tell anybody what's happening -or what's happened- to me. Not even my mom.
Still, the vivid green of the grass-where the grass is actually managing to assert itself through the dirt-seems out of place. This seems like a place where the sun should never shine: a place on the edge, at the limit, a place completely removed from time and happiness and life.
Every choice is limited. That's life.
He looked at me like I was beautiful.
I am growing stronger. I am a stone being excavated by the slow passage of water; I am wood charred by a fire.
I remember Lena's expression when he knocked on the door; and how Alex had looked at her when she finally let him into the storeroom. I remember exactly what he was wearing, too, and the mess of his hair, the sneakers with their blue-tinged laces. His right shoe was untied. He didn't notice. He didn't notice anything but Lena.
I will make a pact with you: I will do it if you will do it, always and forever. Take down the walls.
This is what we are made for: promises, pledges, and sworn oaths of obedience.
For a second, I feel a sense of overwhelming grief: for how things change, for the fact that we can never go back. I'm not certain of anything anymore. I don't know what will happen--
My parents were pretty liberal, but they were still parents. I definitely had my teenage rebellion.
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