Allie Burke Quotes

Writing is the voices inside our heads, our minds, the creativity that exists for us to, from nothing, create alternate worlds, manipulate a personality or to introduce a new kind of love, a new kind of hate or pain or happiness or wonder or ... anything we want. Through words, we can do, we can be anything we want.

She smiled at him, and he stopped breathing.

What to do with life? Get out of bed, Derek. That's what you do. You get out of bed, and you get yourself a cup of fucking coffee. That's all you can do.

He dropped the joint in the dirt and ran inside. It wasn't his first, and wouldn't be his last. The joint, that is. Not the kid. He was pretty sure, at this point, that he would never have sexual relations with his wife again.

Please understand that these people - schizophrenics - they live a lie every day. Her past and everyone in it, they are like ... like Paper Souls. Being schizophrenic is a lot like being a writer. People don't exist until she makes them up in her head, and that's where they stay. It's one revolving hallucination.

The universe requires balance. Nothing, nothing, can exist without it. There is no life, no light, without death, without darkness. There is no memory ... without emptiness.

Anytime his gaze fell upon her, it was always the same. That awful chest pain, so relentless it was like his heart exploded.

They didn't let you bring marijuana on airplanes, apparently, as hard as that was to believe.

He just wanted to get through his uninteresting day, so he could cross over into the night, and find his way to the red headed light that brightened the black sky.

He was sort of beautiful. In his own dark, depressing way, but still. She was going to miss that stupid fucking beautiful face.

What is perfect, anyway? The absence of perfection and the existence of human nature in place of something we want to do or we don't want to do, is an excuse, not an exoneration.

Baking was a science, precise, just mix it all together and let the oven do the work. But actually cooking, she couldn't cook a tasty meal if her life depended on it.

The most important things, the experiences that leave marks on our souls for everyone to see, those marks that reflect our most intense emotions in a glass pane, we will never forget.

It takes two to tango, and if you dance too long, implosion is inevitable.

She couldn't stop thinking about Elias. His hands caressing her feet, his arms around her body, his fingers entangled in her hair
he was so warm. It wasn't only the temperature, it was some deep connection that ran down to her soul, his touch mollifying the core of her. And his voice
it was no wonder the magic ceased when he spoke. It was so deep, but so level
not even the most kindhearted and loving women deserved to hear such a sexy sound come out of a man's mouth.

I already live like you," Evan lifted his head and looked straight into Christian's eyes. "I'm living like you right now, without her. If she leaves me when I ask her to marry me, or at the altar, or tomorrow, I could still say I tried. I could still say I loved her, that I kissed her, I held her." Evan inhaled a deep breath, his chest swelling with the intensity of it. "Without her, I'll just rot into nothing.

She ignored his feverish, sweaty skin, his violent trembles, and she kissed him. As he passionately held her against him, the whole world disappeared. It was just him. It had always been him.

Daniel had no idea what was happening to him. He felt sick. No, he didn't feel sick. He didn't feel sick. That was the problem. Or, it wasn't a problem. Was it? Was it a problem when you didn't feel normal, and that made you smile because normal never really felt right anyway?

He already missed her, even before he shut the front door behind him.

What did she care what became of this world when her loved ones were dead and gone?

Elias could not have prepared himself for the moment that he walked into that cottage and laid his eyes on her. Her emerald green eyes
the way they gazed upon him like there were no surroundings or time or sounds to distract her, like he was all that existed.

She was addicted to literature like some people were addicted to heroin.

He will give his life, for anything he feels has more of a right to live than he. Make no mistake, Elias. He's a Reed. It's what he does.

Christian submitted to the roll of his eyes, the churn of his stomach, the break in his knees. He willingly fell out of consciousness, surrendering his heart to the blackness. She was gone. He was gone. Life on earth didn't matter anymore.