Poetry isn't like any writing I've ever heard before. I don't understand all of it, just bits of images, sentences that appear half-finished, all fluttering together like brightly colored ribbons in the wind. — 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
