There are tons of kids out there who endure chronic abuse and suffer in silence. They can’t trust anyone, they can’t tell anyone, and they have no idea how to get away from it.
This isn't a book. This isn't a paranormal fantasy or whatever the hell it is you read. There is no set plot or clear idea of where any of this is going. The enemies aren't obvious. There are no guaranteed happy endings.
...The human mind is a complicated place...We hold on to things, images, words, ideas, histories that we don't even know we're holding on to.
I'm the idea of the human imagination, which, when you think about it, is the only thing we can really be certain ISN'T imaginary.
When he spoke of love, it was in the manner of someone who can recite a phrase in a foreign language but has no idea what it means. He only knows that it sounds pretty.
I'm not trying to be noble. I'm afraid. And the idea of having more love than I've ever had-- and knowing I might never have it again-- that scares me worse than anything.
Nietzsche, an infinitely harder and more courageous intellect, was incapable of any such confusion of ideas; he seldom allowed sentimentality to turn him from the glaring fact.
Two fixed ideas can no more exist together in the moral world than two bodies can occupy one and the same place in the physical world.
I'd spent so long trying to fit in,trying to be someone i wasn't,that i had no idea who i was any more.
Traveling equals having experiences which translate into more opportunities for exposing incorrect ideas about life.
I'm not sentimental--I'm as romantic as you are. The idea, you know, is that the sentimental person thinks things will last--the romantic person has a desperate confidence that they won't.
Give me a bouncy ball. I’ve got some ideas I want to throw at you. Put on your squeaky shoes—we’ve got work to do!
I am the washing machine of love. And if you have no idea what I mean, maybe it’s time to let some laundry into your life.
Books. People have no idea how beautiful books are. How they taste on your fingers. How bright everything is when you light it with words.
I love ebooks. I love the idea of storing books in “The Cloud”, because honestly, reading and rainy days go together like peanut butter and umbrellas.
The idea of adultery is like a soccer ball. Yeah, you might kick it around for a while, but if you actually wind up scoring, you get slapped with a huge penalty.
He was born after me, and he died before me. I gave him life, and I killed him. He was an idea, and considerably harder to stab than grandpa.
I couldn’t steal an idea. Not even if my clone came up with it. But I could steal your heart—even if my clone had it stored in a cryogenic freezer.
Time is a manmade concept, introduced just to sell more clocks. And I haven’t bought into the idea, which is why I am late for love.
There are lots of great ideas in my book, but as a cohesive unit, my book is only held together with glue at the spine. Or it would be, if it weren’t an ebook.
Light precedes every transition. Whether at the end of a tunnel, through a crack in the door or the flash of an idea, it is always there, heralding a new beginning.
