Quotes from Robyn Schneider

the life you plan isn't the life that happens to you.

the thing about being erased is that first you have to leave a mark.

Erased means you disappear. It's more like you've been…forcibly evicted from your old life. You're still leaving your mark, you're just doing it somewhere else.

Three more fireworks shot up over the freeway, contorting into purple stars as they burst against the dissipating smoke.

How could I have known, back then, that the white house across the park would belong to Cassidy Thorpe? That out of a row of nearly identical McMansions, there'd be one window in particular I searched out every night before bed, looking for secret messages?

I thought about the metal in my knee, replacing this piece of me that was missing, that no longer worked. And it wasn't my heart, I kept telling myself. It wasn't my heart.

But no, I had a test in Calculus. I flunked the test, badly. It was as though my brain didn't want to solve for the rate of acceleration...

I read once that we're all just dead stars looking back up at the sky...I don't know why I was thinking about that, but it made a lot of sense right then that stars glow so brightly in their instant of death...

Dude," Austin said as we exited the freeway, "in fifty years, all of the old folks' homes are going to be filled with seniors listening to Justin Bieber on the oldies station and talking about how movies used to be in two-D.

And the concept of an extraordinary means of preserving life, or a risky, optional treatment that doctors don't recommend, is one I studied in graduate school and fascinates me to this day. It's the idea that the patient ultimately controls their own fate, and that is the greatest freedom you can have within a system that sees patients as their diagnosis rather than as people

No, Charlotte, I'm not going to tell him," I said drily. "The hymen of your integrity remains intact. Your precious jewel of a reputation is un-besmirched.

There's no shame in following your heart," said Gawain. "But my brother needs to watch where he steps while doing so. And on whom he steps.

Life is the tragedy," she said bitterly. "You know how they categorize Shakespeare's plays, right? If it ends with a wedding, it's a comedy. And if it ends with a funeral, it's a tragedy. So we're all living tragedies, because we all end the same way, and it isn't with a goddamned wedding.

But how do you know who's a watcher and who's a prisoner?" I asked, pulling into the empty parking lot. "That's the point. Even the watchers are prisoners.

Sitting there on the swing set, in her bare feet and blue dress, her hair slipping out of its ponytail, she was so gorgeous that it hurt.

No matter how strong the current beats against you, or how heavy your burden, or how tragic your love story. You keep going.

It was the pressure of being told two things: 1. That I only had a short amount of time, and 2. That I had to get everything right.

Austin was engrossed in some mobile gaming device. "No, no, bad portal," he scolded, totally oblivious to the world. "Stop—evil—eurgh! Suck my flagellated balls, douchenozzle!

wondered what things became when you no longer needed them, and I wondered what the future would hold once we'd gotten past our personal tragedies and proven them ultimately survivable.

Two pathologies diverged in a yellow wood," Nick said, using his Mock Trial voice. "And I, I took the one less traveled.

I climbed into my car and started to head home, my visor down against the glare of the sun. But at the last minute, I turned left, because I never had before, and because I had time to go down different road.

It's strange how we can lose things that are still right there. How a barrier can go up at any moment, trapping you on the other side, keeping you from what you want. How the things that hurt the most are things we once had. And

He went on, talking about how opposites could actually be the same thing, and how they occurred together in nature, not actually opposites at all, but simply destined to take part in different reactions.

That pause in conversation when you're about to introduce someone but you've forgotten their name. There's a word for it. In Scotland, it's called a tartle.