Quotes from Lauren Oliver

It occurs to me that for a long time she has been doing her own version of resisting.

Everytime he brushes me with his fingers, time seems to tether for a second, like it is in danger of dissolving. The whole world is dissolving, I decide, except for us. Us.

No wonder the regulators decided on segregation of boys and girls: Otherwise, it would have been a nightmare, this feeling angry and self-conscious and confused and annoyed all the time.

Maybe this is the secret to talking to boys--maybe you just have to be angry all the time.

All this time, I thought we were growing apart because I was leaving Lena behind. But really it was the reverse. She was learning to lie. She was learning to love.

They told us love was a disease. They told us it would kill us in the end. For the very first time I realize, that this, too, might also be a lie.

Time jumps. It leaps. It pours away like water through fingers.

I think dystopian futures are also a reflection of current fears.

I was a troubled teen and I was constantly looking for someone to throw me a rope. Those ropes are connections. They allow us to see that life exists beyond the little worlds we are currently a part of.

I love you. Remember. And someday, I will find you again.

Love: It will kill you and save you, both

I don't love you, Lena. Do you hear me? I never love you.

When you love someone, when you care for someone, you have to do it through the good and the bad. Not just when you're happy and it's easy.

Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge.

Love is the only thing in the world worth having. You must never loose it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.

"And I love you too." His fingers skate the edge of my jaw, dance briefly over my lips. "You should know that. You have to know that."

Love obeys no laws other than its own.

'Requiem' has been controversial because people don't feel I gave it closure.

Live free or die. Four words. Thirteen letters. Ridges, bumps, swirls under my fingertips. Another story. We cling tightly to it, and our belief turns it to truth.

A room full of words that are nearly the truth but not quite, each note fluttering off the steam of its rose like a broken butterfly wing.

Love. I love you. I'll always love you, my love. You are the love of my life.

He was still in love with you, anyway.

I love you. They can't take it away.

My former people were not totally wrong. Love is a kind of possession. It's a poison. And if Alex no longer loves me, I can't bear to think that he might love somebody else.