Elizabeth Scott Quotes

Just once, I wanted to lose something without the whole world watching.

And now I see what has been there all along, what I've noticed but never truly understood until now.
Eli is as uncertain as I am, as we all are. Life has surprised him like it has me. Has hurt him like it has me.

And in the end blood and tears are alike because they stop too.

I hurt all over even more now, like someone has shattered my insides, like I've been torn apart and put back together but I'm missing something.
Her.
And him. My brother.

It's like I'm living inside a mirror. I see things, I do things, but they are just surfaces and nothing more.

He kisses me and for that kiss, for that moment, I forget how worried I am. It comes back, of course, but with Caleb, I feel more whole - I am more whole - than I have been since Mom died.
I love him.
I love him because of who he is, who he really is past what everyone else sees; the lost boy, the druggie, the car thief. I love him because he is strong and caring. I love him because he broke and put himself back together again. I love him because he is beautiful inside and out.
I love him for being here with me. I love him for not telling me that everything will be all right. I love him because he knows what life is like, what it can do, and is always honest about it.

The truth is, I feel beyond sad. I feel empty. Numb.

...sometimes, you have to break your own heart.

I don't eat bread.' Is she pouting? It's hard to tell. She's had a lot of chemicals injected into her face.

I thought living dead girls couldn't feel pain, thought I was emptied out but I'm not, I'm not.

Okay, I guess you can come in."
"Um, Hannah, you have to, you know, open the front door so I can actually come in."
"I thought you were going to - you're standing under my window. Aren't you supposed to climb up here or something?"
"My ladder's at home. Also, you call throwing rocks at your window clichéd?

All the things I've thought about love are true. It's beautiful and terrible and it doesn't make things perfect. It ends things, and it brings beginnings.
This is mine.

Anger can try to break your heart, but sorrow is what will. What can. What does.

I didn't want to see it. I didn't think he'd ever really notice me, and in the end, he didn't.

I think ... I think sometimes that's how it is. Sometimes people have to go before you get stuff. Before you can really get it.

The story of my life can be told in silver: in chocolate mills, serving spoons, and services for twelve. The story of my life has nothing to do with me. The story of my life is things. Things that aren't mine, that won't ever be mine. It's all I've ever known.
I wish it wasn't.

I do not fall. I fell so hard so long ago there is nothing left for me to land on. I just
keep falling and falling and falling.

It was nothing. We played tic-tac-toe for a while. You know we do that sometimes."
"Oh, I know," Teagan says.
"Okay, how did you make that sound like we were rolling around ripping off each other's clothes?

She's gone, but I can be happy. I can be in love. I can be both those things and scared too, and I am. I am, and this is what life is.

There are a million rules for being a girl. There are a million things you have to do to get through each day. High school has things that can trip you up, ruin you, people say one thing and mean another, and you have to know all the rules, you have to know what you can and can't do.

I knew I was having a panic attack. I hadn't had one in a while, though, and I'd forgotton how they made everything like it- and I- was going to fall apart. How they reminded me of how trapped I was.

I suppose he's making a real fashion statement, but this is high school. You're not supposed to be real. You're supposed to be enough like everyone else to get through and out into the waiting world.

I'd dressed up and hoped and I was so tired of doing that, so tired of dreaming and being unable to stop it despite the fact that I'd seen, maybe better than anyone here, what dreams could do to you.

I will always know what life can take, but I am ready to see what it can give.

I think love is huge, overwhelming. I think it's terrible and beautiful.

Why do people think being with someone is the answer to everything?

When someone you love ... when they die, you want it undone. You'd do anything to have them back, and it's easy to believe that if only this had happened or that had happened, everything would be fine. And that's what makes you angry. What makes you hate. You don't want to believe that sometimes bad things happen just because they do.

He's looking at me as if the whole world waits for my next breath, with an intensity that makes my heart pound and my palms sweat and then he smiles, a sweet curve of his mouth, and my breath catches, but then I freeze because there is something about it, something beyond it that I know, that makes my mind go blank with fear and pain.

I've been taught that love is beautiful and kind, but it isn't like that at all. It is beautiful, but it's a terrible beauty, a ruthless one, and you fall-you fall, and the thing is-
The thing is you want to. You don't care what's coming you just want who your heart beats for.

Friends. Strange indeed. There's just so much at risk, including my heart and mental stability - which are both still extremely fragile. I'm getting better but my heart still aches for you. I'm also having a hard time dealing with the fear. I don't want to be sad anymore. I don't want to cry, worry, or be scared anymore. I just wish I could feel free and happy again. If I can't talk to you at all, it's unbearable. If I talk to you too much, it's unbearable. It doesn't leave much. I want us both to be happy. I just want everything to be okay for you and me. I don't want anyone else to hurt. I feel like I've hurt enough for everyone. I've cried enough tears to fill everyone's bucket.

Look at me. We aren´t them lauren. You´re not your mother or father any more than I´m my mother. You´re you and I´m me and I love you.

You,I think. I am terrified of you. Of how your kindness makes me like you in spite of myself. Of how you make me dream things I haven't dreamed in forever.
You,I think. But I don't say it.

I knew from Brianna that being beautiful wasn't all great. Brianna had changed in middle school. One day we were both seventh graders and the next, she was a supermodel who had a seventh grader for a best friend.

Imagine a guy. He's a little taller than you, with perfect skin, skin that just screams "touch me!" and dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes and he looks so sweet and he is sweet. And then have him blush a little.

Things end. People leave. And you know what? Life goes on. Besides, if bad things didn't happen, how would you be able to feel the good ones?

How can I remember a world that isn't mine? One that isn't the one I wake up in every day now?

Kate, don't be like that. You know I only did so well because I yearn-see, SAT word- to follow you to college and steal your heart."
"Uh-huh. Too bad for you I don't plan on attending clown college."
He grinned. "Only you would ignore the incredibly sweet thing I just said."
"Only you would describe one of your asinine comments as incredibly sweet.

I think the way I feel when I look at Evan comes from her. In pictures taken the day she married my dad, she was reckless, laughing, spinning around in circles. She looked like her whole world was him. She looked a kind of happy I can't even imagine.
I don't want that. I don't want to be like that. I don' want to feel the way she did because I know what happens when you do. You love with your whole heart, with everything, and you wake up one morning and kiss someone good-bye the way you always do except you mean it as good-bye forever.

He looks trapped, helpless and furious, and that's a feeling I know too well. Know how much it hurts. Know how it holds you down, how every day there are a thousand little ways to see there is nothing you can do to change who or what you are.

I didn't want it to be one good memory that led to a lot of bad ones. I wanted it to stay what it was, one amazing moment, something that was strong and sweet enough to stand on its own. Something I could remember without any pain.
- Kate

That damn spark.

Because when I first saw you I thought-no, I knew-you were special. Because I still think that every time I look at you. Because I think you're smart and funny and brave. But most of all," he grins at me- "because I like questions.

I thought you were going to - you're standing under my window. Aren't you supposed to climb up here or something?"
"My ladder's at home.

I want to care, but I don't.

The thing is, that world doesn't exist. All growing up means is that your realize no one will come along to fix things. No one will come along to save you.

I'm broken, I have cut myself wide open. I can see my heart and it is not what I believed it was, it is not good and kind and all the things I have always thought I am.

My name is Danielle. I'm eighteen. I've been stealing things for as long as I can remember.

I sit next to Caleb, waiting and thinking about what life really is. About how it has its own will. How it shows you things that rip you open, tear your world apart. How it unfolds even when you think it can't. How it takes you places you never thought you'd be. Shows you things you never knew you wanted to see. Brings you pain - and joy.

The world will knock you down plenty. You don't need to be doing it to yourself.

That's you, right?' he asks me.
'Yeah.'
'Cute. Not that I, uh, think little kids are cute. Just that you were cute. I mean, you can see how you turned out to be so ... oh.

I think you're the saddest person I've ever met. It's like you're drowning in it.

If she could breathe then it could be heard, but she was breathless.

I have been smashed and put back together so many times nothing works right. Nothing is where it should be, heavy thumping in my shoulder where my heart now beats.

I always thought of grief as a blow that took everything out of you. And it is like that. But it stays, past that first hard hit. It stays and blows its breath into you.
It's always there, reminding you of what you've lost. What's gone.

No, it can't," I say. "It's - it's the kind of thing you want to say, that you want to believe, but it isn't - I know isn't true. I thought my heart knew things, but what I thought was real turned out to be a lie, and now I don't -

Once upon a time, I did not live in Shady Pines. Once upon a time, my name was not Alice. Once upon a time, I didn't know how lucky I was.

But I know a lie when I hear one.

Check it out. I got a new name tag today." He unclipped it and held it out toward me.
I looked at it. "A. GUY."
He grinned. "Someone actually asked me what the A stood for," he said, his hand brushing mine as he took the tag back, sliding it into his pocket. "I said Larry.

It was like we were all so busy trying to be happy or saying we were happy, but underneath there was nothing but bitterness, the kind that could only be bled out in ink, in unspoken word.

Hope was supposed to be a good thing, but it was starting to feel like every other four-letter word you're not supposed to say.

I see what grief does, how it strips you bare, shows you all the things you don't want to know. That loss doesn't end, that there isn't a moment where you are done, when you can neatly put it away and move on.

I love this time of day,' Josh says-talking to me, he's talking to me!-and I try to think of the right thing to say.
'I love you' sounds a little intense for the conversation.
'Can we make out?' sounds like something Jackson would say, and even if I am thinking it, I never want to sound like Jackson. Ever.
'Me too,' is what I come up with.
Brilliant, right?

I don't know how I know that, but I do. I can feel the beat of that truth inside me. Taste it bitter on my tongue.
Sometimes, like now, I didn't think I want to know who I really am.

Everyone gets scared, like it's some big profound statement?

Sometimes being me is very confusing.

I felt nothing all the time, and it had started to feel normal. It should have scared me, but it didn't.

It could be enough, maybe, or at least a start, but the problem is that at night I tumble into dreams that aren't dreams at all. I tumble into memories and wake up aching for a dying world and a quiet, cold life that offered me nothing but sitting in a still room.

The sun will rise tomorrow. It always does, and all the wishing in the world for the way things were, or for what they could have been, won't change that. It won't change how things are.

Whatever happened to me just now has gotten to me, broken past the fragile shell I've built. More than my memory is gone. My soul has wings that beat to a heart I don't understand and I see things, feel things that I know aren't from here, but that are so real.

He kept talking and I thought about taking my copy of Huckleberry Finn and stuffing it in his mouth so he'd shut up.

Something in me, in my bruised heart, wakes up, and even though I'm terrified, I don't push the feeling away.

I'll always remember taking your hand and telling you that everything would be okay.

Working to my potential.' It's like every teacher I have has some sort of manual to use when talking to me. She finished with, 'You have so much going for you,' which was the dumbest thing anyone, even Laurie, has ever said to me.

What had been became what
was and a story only works when you know the ending.
When the people in it don't seem like pretend. When you can think about that girl and how she was once upon a time, and see her.
When you don't already know the story is a lie.

It's torture, not being able to talk to him!! She's been so, so worried. How she hopes he's finally doing better now and sleeping soundly.

My full name is Lauren Lee Smith. Of all the names I could have been given, that's the one I got. Lauren Lee Smith. It has all the personality of a toaster.

I am the living dead girl because I am too weak to die. I hate those crying dough women on TV because they are just like me, weak and broken and clinging to the hands that hold us under.

I want to lie down on the bench then, or better yet, on the grass, rest on something living and see if I can hear the dead underneath.

Josh pulls me aside.
"Hey, About before, I just ... I wanted to say ... well, I think you're pretty special." He says, kind of stumbling over the words a little. Like he's hesitant to say them, now i wish he'd hug me again. And then kiss me.
But he doesn't. He just waves and walks off.
I sigh.
"Hannah, I just ... I want you to know if I pause alot when I tell you how special you are I want you to think that I'm ... very ... very ... deep," Finn says

Grace is my favourite church word. A state of being. Something you can pray for. Something God can grant. Something you can obtain. Perfection is out of reach. But grace
grace you can reach for.

After a couple of days of complete hell , rest is at the top of the agenda. As he fades away to an overdue peacefulness, he misses her .

The heart is a place with worm holes made by feelings you aren't supposed to have but do.

Things change. Stuff happens. Life goes on.

The sun flitered in through the small, dirty windows, catches his eyes. They are brown, ordinary, but the way he looks at me - no one has ever looked at me like he does. He looks at me like he sees something. Someone.
Me.
"All right," he says, and puts his hands behind his head.
"Go ahead.

Darling, the world doesn't owe you anything.

Cute" is one of those words people use when they know you're smart enough to realize "you've got so much personality" means "you're ugly.

I heard how people sounded when their dreams were shattered, when their lives were turned into a waking nightmare.

Maybe you and I have to learn how to live
with what we saw. With what we know.

This is the real unwritten rule: You don't want what you know you shouldn't. And I haven't just broken that rule. I have wrecked it, smashed it, and still ...
And still I want.

Well as much as I'm sure the people next door who are pretending they aren't looking at me would like to hear what I have to say, I'd rather say it to just you.

She is so relieved to know that he's better and is finally getting the sleep he needs and she misses him.

I'm so not interesting in having to try and make something out of foil."
What, you didn't like the poncho with wraparound leggings?"
It was beyond hideou- wait a minute. You watch that show?"
My mom loves it."
But your suppose to be sulking in the basement getting ready to light fires."
What can I say? I'm a failure as a teenager. I watch TV with my mom.

I deserved the shaking and the headaches and the fact that every single time I took a breath I felt a squeezing in my chest, my heart beating even though I wished it wasn't.

I-I don't usually go around throwing rocks at people's windows. Or saying that I've wanted to kiss you since your first day at work, when you wanted to know why we had three codes for fish sandwiches when we only sold one kind.

So, you're telling me that no matter what, you can't be happy? Well, darling, it's no wonder you're miserable. It's what you want ... So then try (to be happy).

I don't know, shifted a little or something, smoothed down–people would think of me the way they think of Dave, and everything would always be perfect. I would be perfect.

This is what happiness is, past the rubbish of its overuse as a word, past the cracked gloss of the letters that mean nothing when strung together. They mean something now, and I know what it's like when you and someone else are right together. How simple is is, and how amazing.

And yet here I am. Broken and bleeding on the inside, heartsick, I am here.

There's no good way to die, you know? No way I've seen, anyway. It all ends with tubes and bedpans and IVs and I just
smoking gets me out of there. Gets me outside, gets me away from all the
"
"Sick people?" I say, and she shakes her head.
"Away from my life.

I liked him first, but it doesn't matter. I still like him. That doesn't matter either. Or at least, it's not supposed to.