Sunday night, I reread The Catcher in the Rye until I felt tired enough to fall asleep. Only I never got tired enough. And I couldn't read, because reading didn't feel the same.
His eyes softened. I thought maybe he pitied me, but it was something else. "Ultimately, it will be your burden to bear. It's always the Mortal who bears it. Trust me, I know." "I don't trust you and you're wrong. We aren't too different." "Mortals. I envy you. You think you can change things. Stop the universe. Undo what was done long before you came along. You are such beautiful creatures." He was talking to me, but it didn't feel like he was talking about me anymore. "I apologize for the intrusion. I'll leave you to your sleep.
Mortals. Everything is so black and white to you.
Got it. Demon. Death. Doom.
Wait, I got it. We, uh, won the battle and lost the war, or was it the other way around? 'Cause around here, it's hard to tell sometimes.
There's something about sitting alone in the dark that reminds you how big the world really is, and how far apart we all are.
It's hard to imagine a place like that really exists. People have been judging me my whole life.
I almost ran you down, remember? I have to be nice to you, so you don't have me arrested.
I sat up in bed. My T-shirt was soaking wet. My pillow was wet. My hair was wet. And my room was sticky and humid.
You climbed into my window in the middle of the night. So, either you're some kind of Vampire or some kind of Perv. Which is it?
Lying on the ceiling. Refusing to go to school. Not opening up to me. Climbing water towers. "No, she's all right."
Everything in Gatlin was rigged. Why would the carnival games be any different?
When you look up. Do you see the blue sky of what might be? Or the darkness of what will never be? Do you see me?
So either your a vampire or a perv. Which is it?
The guys were going down one road, and I was going down another.
Summer School: Never stop learnin' if you want to stop earnin'. I'm reasonably sure there G's in learning and earning.
There were two kinds of people in our town. The stupid, and the stuck.
It was unbelievable. She was standing there, staring at him like he was a real rock star.
The guy thought he was Mick Jagger. I felt bad for him.
There is a point. I don't know what it is, but everything I've had, and everything I've lost, and everything I felt-it meant something. Maybe there isn't a meaning to life. Maybe there's only a meaning to living. That's what I've learned. That's what I'm going to be doing from now on. Living. And loving, as sappy as it sounds
Because life goes on, L. The birds do their thing, and the bees do theirs. Seeds get scattered, and everything grows back.
The way she told it, she was such a criminal even the most God-fearing church ladies got bored of reporting on her; she did the marketing on Sunday, dropped by any church she liked or none at all, was a feminist (which Mrs. Asher sometimes confused with communist), a Democrat (which Mrs. Lincoln pointed out practically had "demon" in the word itself), and, worst of all, a vegetarian (which ruled out any dinner invitations from Mrs. Snow).
Don’t spit down my back and tell me it’s raining.
There were only two kinds of people in our town. ―The stupid and the stuck- ―The ones who are bound to stay or too dumb to go. Everyone else finds a way out.
Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be.
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