You're mortal, and only a mortal can afford to be romantic. When we conquered death, we murdered love.

I brought Sammy inside and put him to bed. Said his prayer with him. “‘Now I lay me down to sleep…’” To me, just random noise. Gibberish. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but I felt that, when it came to God, there was a broken promise in there somewhere.

In every creepy movie ever made, the barn is the prime nesting ground for the things you don't know you're looking for and always regret finding.

Sarcasm doesn't appear to work on him. If that's true, I'm in trouble: It's my normal mode of communication.

Sci-Fi is the genre that explored both possibilities: the end of our existential crisis and the end of our existence. My novel, The 5th Wave, explores the latter scenario, because, frankly, I believe it represents the likeliest outcome of an extraterrestrial encounter. In short, if they're out there, we better hope they never find us.

Dr. Warthrop chopped off my finger with a butcher knife.

There are those who labor in the darkness, that the rest of us might live in the light.