“And what is an "instant" death anyway? How long is an instant? Is itone second? Ten? The pain of those seconds must… — John Green Copy Share Image
“What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding in an hour.” — John Green Copy Share Image
At least it was instant. At least there wasn't any pain." I knew he was only trying to help, but he didn't… — John Green Copy Share Image
“Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly… — John Green Copy Share Image
“With morning came visitors. An hour after the Colonel left, resident stoner Hank Walsten dropped by to offer me some weed, which… — John Green Copy Share Image
“What the hell is instant ? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an… — John Green Copy Share Image
Issac:"I dislike living in a world without Augustus Waters." Computer: "I don't understand-" Issac: "Me neither. Pause — John Green Copy Share
She smiled with all the delight of a kid on Christmas morning and said, "Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die." -… — John Green Copy Share
Neither novels or their readers benefit from any attempts to divine whether any facts hide inside a story. Such efforts attack the very idea… — John Green Copy Share
“Traffic's not too bad on Sheridan, and I'm cornering the car like it's the Indy 500, and we're listening to my favorite NMH song,… — John Green Copy Share
So I was ugly. I was never fat, really, and I never wore headgear or had zits or anything. But I was ugly. I… — John Green Copy Share
“said to him quietly, as if I couldn’t hear or something. Dad was about to respond but I interrupted.” — John Green Copy Share
“He was hot. A nonhotboy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a… — John Green Copy Share
I think if you keep the box closed long enough you do kill the cat, actually. — John Green Copy Share
Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia. (...) You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it… — John Green Copy Share
