Lauren DeStefano Quotes

Ah, love. That’s what the world has lost. There’s no more love, only the illusion of it.

I think she's brave. I think that nobody has ever believed what she could be capable of. All her life, nobody was listening.

And if I have to die trying, I will get out of here.

Words like 'unputdownable' and 'irresistible' are simply not enough for Cat Winters's In the Shadow of Blackbirds. Days after finishing this story, it remains the first thought I have in the morning, and the thing that haunts me until I sleep.

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.

I shake my head, watching snow tumble and swirl from an all-white sky. The world seems so clean if you only look up

Hope, that risky, illustrious thing. It should have gone extinct by now, but we keep it alive.

Real’ is a dirty word in this place.

Everyone should remember being born. It doesn't seem fair that we only remember dying.

My sisters were in that van.

It was a terrible decision, and I confess I'd make it again.

who once had dreams of saving the world, now laughs at anyone who tries.

Lovers are weapons, but love is a wound.

Love unrequited is violent. He loves you so much that he's turned it into hate.

Tell me about yourself." "Myself?" He looks confused. "Yes," I say, patting the mattress. "You know all there is to know," he says, sitting beside me. "Not true," I say. "Where were you born? What's your favourite season? Anything." "Here. Florida," he says. "I remember a woman in a red dress with curly brown hair. Maybe she was my mother, I'm not sure. And summer. What about you?" The last part is said with a smile. He smiles so infrequently that I consider each one a trophy.

Fate,' I said, 'Is a theif.

She's beautiful and graceful, and she is very compassionate and loyal when you aren't responsible for the murder of her family.

When I am writing anything in general, I just want to tell the story that exists in my head; I don't try to write a parable or make a point.

Her mind is a bird that's trapped inside her skull, flapping and thrashing, never breaking free.

We writers are resilient souls.

Fall has always been my favorite season. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.

But instead of tears, when I press my face against the pillow, a horrible, primal scream comes out of me. It's unlike anything I thought myself capable of. Rage, unlike anything I've ever known.

The sullen boy sitting before me is not my husband, and the girl he is fretting over isn't me, will never be me.

We can change so many times in our lives. We're born into a family, and it's the only life we can imagine, but it changes. Buildings collapse. Fires burn. And the next second we're someplace else entirely, going through different motions and trying to keep up with this new person we've become.

The trick was looking past the illusion, because the exit was never as far away as it seemed.

A strange thing, words. Once they're said, it's hard to imagine they're untrue.

Living in a place like this, she must have learned how to see all the monsters that can hide a person.

My worries always lead to dungeons; I can't imagine a worse thing than to be imprisoned for the rest of one's life, especially with so few years to enjoy what little there is.

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.

It isn’t a perfect place. There are no perfect places. But nobody cares about perfection when there are sand castles to build and kites to chase, children that are being born, old hearts that are giving in.

I wonder what it’s like for her, looking so much like a dead girl.

Perhaps... you love too fiercely.

I start trying to stay unconscious. The problem with this is that no amount of willpower can change the reality.

It's never right to give up on someone.

I was born into a world that was already dying; I belong to it.