Quotes from Neal Shusterman

It's that quirky kind of weekend feeling they write ridiculous sunny-day songs about. You know the ones--I'm sure they're on your iPod even though you'd never admit it.

Why are you still with me, Fry? CyFi asks after one of his body-shaking seizures. Any sane dude woulda taken off days ago. Who says I'm sane? Oh, you're sane, Fry. You're so sane, you scare me. You're so sane, it's insane.

Wars have a way reinventing people. And making too many things disappear. -Sonia

Unwinds exist in the constant shadow of betrayal.

Should I push him or should I throw him? Howie asks. Do what comes naturally, I yelled back. I don't know, he says. This is a very unnatural thing.

You must stop these reckless surrenders to your momentary moods.

Such a delicate charge as pruning the human race should not be subject to the quirks of personality.

You should learn to relish the hunger more than the feast, lest you become a glutton.

If you have to ask then you don't deserve an answer.

We are, however, creatures of containment. We want all things in life packed into boxes that we can label. But just because we have the ability to label it, doesn't mean we really know what's in the box. It's kind of religion. It gives us comfort to believe we have defined something that is, by its very nature, indefinable. As to whether or not we've gotten it right, well, it's all a matter of faith.

there are some who seek celebrity to change the world, and others who seek it to ensnare the world.

Cam knows this is not going to be a good day the moment he sees the chain saw.

My grandmother used to say that twisting paths always cross again, he told her. And whose paths are more twisted than ours?

The pain of knowing is killing me more than killing me would kill me, so I jump just to end it.

Whoever invented the spork should be killed.

the Statue of Liberty's got this invitation: 'Give me your tired, your poor, your reeking homeless--' 'Huddled masses,' said Ira. 'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.' ... Okay, fine. So like everybody in the old countries says, 'Hey, I'm a huddled mass,' and they all wanna come over.

Yesterday you were gods. Today you are mortal. Your death is my gift to you. Accept it with grace and humility.

The Admiral's using us, he says to the kids around him. Don't you see that? Most of the kids just shrug, but Hayden's there, and he never misses an opportunity to add his peculiar wisdom to a situation. I'd rather be used whole than in pieces, Hayden says.

found the use of actual old-school books off putting, but over time, he'd learned there was something very satisfying to the turning of pages, and the emotional catharsis of slamming a book shut

There's a lot written about killers from the mortal age –monsters like Jack the Ripper, or Charlie Manson, or Cyber Sally –and the only difference between them and Goddard is that people let Goddard get away with it. The mortals knew how wrong it was, but somehow we've forgotten.

No, it's not! says Emby. Hey—he wanted my opinion, I gave it. But it's wrong! You see, Hayden? You see what you started? Yes! Hayden says excitedly. It looks like we're about to have our own little Heartland War. Pity it's too dark for us to watch it.

I never met the boy, or his parents, but I see kids like him every day." Sonia tells Connor. "Their world is shattered, and they're so desperate for validation that they'd blow themselves up to get it. Any parent who disowns that boy after what he did, and didn't do . . . doesn't deserve to have children at all, much less a child to give away.

When, she wonders, did she stop being a child? The law says it was when she turned eighteen, but the law doesn't know her.

The weird thing is, hearing stories like this makes me feel a kind of kinship with the Almighty, because it proves that even God has psychotic episodes.