His eyes are the color of honey. These are the eyes I remember from my dreams. — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
I said, I prefer the ocean when it's gray. Or not really gray. A pale, in-between color. It reminds me of waiting… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
I loved to be alone in the woods, especially in the late fall when everything is crisp and golden, the leaves the… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
Not gray, exactly. Right before the sun rises there's a moment when the whole sky goes this pale nothing color-not really gray… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
It was a bird. A bird struggling through stickiness: a bird coated in paint, floundering in its nest, splashing color everywhere. Red.… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
Summer explodes into Portland. In early June the heat was there but not the color--the green were still pale and tentative, the… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
Grief is like sinking, like being buried. I am in water the tawny color of kicked-up dirt. Every breath is full of… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
I know the rules. I've been living here longer than you have." He cracks a smile then. He nudges me back. "Hardly."… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
When I’m running, there’s always this split second when the pain is ripping through me and I can hardly breathe and all… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
“My aunt Carol hasn’t heard her say a word in the whole six years and three months of Grace’s life—not a single syllable. Carol… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
We'll walk together holding hands, and kiss in broad daylight, and love each other as much as we want to, and no one will… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
“It seem absurd to me that they don't know, haven't felt any change or tremor, even as my life has been completely turned upside… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
“At least when I'm sleeping I can dream myself back to Alex, can dream myself into a different world.” — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
People are like ants: Just a few of them give all the orders. And most of them spend their lives getting squashed. — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
Summer explodes into Portland. In early June the heat was there but not the color--the green were still pale and tentative, the morning had… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
I wonder if it's ever really possible to know the truth about someone else, or if the best we can do is just stumble… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
“Julian is somewhere among those lights, in that blur of people and buildings. I wonder whether he's scared. I wonder whether he's thinking of… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
A room full of words that are nearly the truth but not quite, each note fluttering off the steam of its rose like a… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
“She’s the kind of person who makes you feel drunk just by being around her, like suddenly the world’s edges are dulled and all… — Lauren Oliver Copy Share Image
