Lauren DeStefano Quotes

I think he's beginning to understand, and understanding is a horrible thing.

Love is not enough to keep any of us alive.

I don’t have too many books, I have too little shelving.

I've done it all before, I tell myself, and I can do it again. Trust is the strongest weapon.

Because even if the lie is beautiful, the truth is what you face in the end.

I figured it out eventually," she says. She's sitting on the edge of the gurney again; her features slowly materialize as my vision clears. "It's momentum." "What?" I whisper. The feeling returning to my lips, spreading out to my fingertips and toes. "Momentum," she repeats. "You can't just stand there if you want something to fly. You have to run.

I don't know if it was love or an illusion. I don't know if there's ever a way to be certain.

She smiles at our husband as she moves, and he blushes, overcome by her beauty. But I know what her smile really means...Her smile is her revenge.

Good night, sweetheart," he says. "Good bye, sweetheart," I say. And it's so casual, so innocent that he doesn't suspect a thing.

Give me time" "For you, always.

She would do anything, anything to belong to his son after a lifetime of belonging to no one at all.

In the distance I see a lighthouse. The light washes over us and continues on its rotation. This time, I don't know where the light will guide us.

When I was 11 or 12, I was really bored with everything on my summer reading list. It was all happy, middle-grade kinds of books. I was getting frustrated, because I liked to read. My mother went to the library and got me a copy of 'The Other Side of Midnight' by Sidney Sheldon. It was my first adult book.

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.

It is the face of a girl who has seen the world, who realizes that it hates her, and who hates it in return.

Don't forget how you got here. Don't Forget.

Did you tell freedom hello for me?

The seeds are tiny, unborn things, and I resent them. They'll be planted and they'll grow into exactly what they're meant to be.

Even the human race can't claim to be natural anymore. We are fake, dying things. How fitting that I would end up in this sham of a marriage.

I lost everyone I loved," I tell him. I wait for him to look at me, and then I add, "The day I met you.

He gathers me up and I'm weightless before he sets me on the railing. He's the only thing keeping me from falling back, out of the reach of daylight. I'm not afraid of falling. I don't fear the sky beyond the train tracks like I did before. I can go anywhere just so long as it's with him.

I never wanted to live forever," she says. "I just wanted enough time.

Maybe what frightens us about the edge isn't our fear of morality, but the thoughts it leads us to have.

And then I wonder, does my brother think of me this way? We entered this world together, one after the other, beats in a pulse. But I will be first to leave it. That's what I've been promised. When we were children, did he dare to imagine an empty space beside him where I then stood giggling, blowing soap bubbles through my fingers? When I die, will he be sorry that he loved me? Sorry that we were twins? Maybe he already is.

We were his disposable things. Brought to him like cattle. Stripped of what made us sisters or daughters or children. There was nothing that he could take from us—our genes, our bones, our wombs—that would ever satisfy him. There was no other way that we would be free.

I can hear my brother's voice in my head. Your problem is that you're too emotional. But how can I not be emotional, Rowan? How can I not care?

So how long do you think it’ll be?” he says. “Before the next hurricane comes along to take you home.” “Can I tell you my biggest fear?” I say. “Yes. Tell me.” “That it will be a very windless four years.

She has the majesty of hurricanes and explosions.

I stare at her collarbone that's framed with lace, the hollow of her throat, her shoulders that rise with each rise with the weight of her next breath. We're fragile things. Our bones show through our skin. What would any god want with us?

I think, in this strange world of beautiful things, there may be some humanity after all.

I had this feeling like the solution to everything would be down there if only I could dig through all those clouds.

Vaughn is talking about the heat, and his voice is so excited that it breaks into whispers at times. He loves his madness the way a bird loves the sky.

You’re insane, you know that?” he says. “It’s the only thing keeping me afloat,” I say.

...maybe hope isn't such a bad thing. Maybe it's what keeps us together.

It taught that there are three versions of things: the one I see in my mind, and the one that carries onto the paper, and then what it ultimately becomes.

Life is much different from the days when there were lilies in my mother’s garden, and all my secrets fit into a paper cup.

Sometimes we don't know how afraid we are until we've reached a strange door and we don't know what will be on the other side.

There is a dark place calling to me, but I will not go just yet. I know I can't return from it.

Rhine. The river that, somewhere out there, has broken free.

I can almost see what Gabriel meant when he asked, 'What has the free world got that you can’t get here?' Almost. Freedom, Gabriel. That’s what you can’t get here.

I miss something I never even had.

Things will get worse before they get better.

There's a hazy smile on her lips that won't go away, and her hair is a mess. It's like a brushfire filled with casualties.

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.

I see an ocean that’s spilled out of a wineglass, its body clear and sparkling and folding over itself. I see a ribbon of sand.

Tell freedom I said hello.' 'If I happen to see it, I will.

On tiptoes the redhead wouldn't even reach my shoulders; she is clearly too young to be a bride. And the willowy girl is too forlorn. And I am too unwilling. Yet here we are.

Poor kid,' Jenna says, and rolls her eyes toward me for a moment. Then she returns to her book. 'She doesn't even understand what kind of place this is.