Megan Miranda Quotes

I think ... I think its always been you who was dying,- Delaney

I knew how I was supposed to feel when I was with him. Well, I knew what I was not supposed to feel. I wasn't supposed to feel anxious. Not tense, either. Or maybe I was. Maybe this was normal. I didn't know. So I let him whisper in my ear and put his hands on my hips. And I listened to him list the ways in which I was slowly killing him.
None of which turned out to be the actual way that I killed him.

And then I started laughing. Horrible, really. But I was laughing. Because of all the things they could say about me, equal parts horrible and true, this was so far from the mark it was funny.

All things happen in an instant. Everything could change in a moment

I stood, my limbs shaking with adrenaline. "Oh, don't do this now. Don't bring this up now.

The monster made him do it. It lived in the woods, and this was its home, and it would speak to you only in a whisper that sounded like your own echo.

When I went from feeling nothing to everything and couldn't stop screaming because it turned out the everything was blinding pain.

I weigh my words before I say them. They're one thing I do have control over. And so I am purposeful with them. Deliberate. I decide what to give and what to hide. I watch for reactions. I study their impact.

I feel like the whole world is off balance. Like I'm losing my shit. Like there's this cliff and I don't even realize I'm on the edge.

My soul was not meant to be in a cage. Not then, and not now.
-Alina Chase

I wasn't sure who I was most scared of at the moment. The stranger I was learning about too quickly, or the woman I'd known my entire life that was quickly becoming a stranger.

Amazing how something that happened so long ago can feel so fresh. How it could come back to haunt you from nowhere- the innocuous ring of a telephone, the past come to call from the other end.

To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he said.
I placed my hands flat on the table and leaned across it. "Stay the hell away from him."
"Who? Oh, you mean the guy who's gonna bite it soon?"
"He's not. He's going to be fine."
He reached a hand out and placed it over my own. I snatched my hand back. He shook his head at me and whispered, "You can't stop it."
"Watch me.

There were tiny moments, like this, when the grief came on strong out of nowhere. It was sneaky, and tricky, and you couldn't see it coming until it was already there. It came with the mundane, simple tasks: My mother would never be hanging pink streamers at my shower. I would never lean over to someone and conspiratorially whisper, My mother is crazy. She would never become a grandmother. Laura

If you had one day left to live, what would you do?

I leaned against my door, struggling to catch my breath, and thought that maybe hell wasn't a place at all, but a thing. A contagious thing. A thing that could creep up the steps, seep through the crack under my door, grow horns and sprout fire - smelling faintly like sulfur. A thing that could sink its tendrils inside and take root, coloring everything gray and distorting a smile into a sneer. And while i got dressed for the play, swatted at my back and kept running my hands over my stomach because I could feel it, I swear, I could feel it reaching for me, trying to grab hold.

I hadn't known that a light could be a feeling and a sound could be a color and a kiss could be both a question and an answer. And that heaven could be the ocean or a person or this moment or something else entirely.

Funny how everything can change in an instant. From death to life. From empty to full. From darkness to light.

If you pretend something hard enough, could it become real?

The past, boxed up and stacked out of sight. But never too far away

If I were a monster, I'd pretend to be human.

But here's the thing I've learned about leaving- you can't really go back. I don't know what to do with Cooley Ridge anymore, and Cooley Ridge doesn't know what to do with me, either. The distance only increases with the years. Most times, if I tried to shift it back into focus...all I'd see was a caricature of it in my mind: a miniature town set up on entryway tables around the holidays, everything frozen in time.

There's no pattern to falling in love. At least, nothing I can understand. Not something I could see beforehand. Not something I can decipher after, either. Trust can be earned, piece by piece, like links of a chain. But love is more like faith, or belief: it's a leap. It's hurtling over the edge of the cliff and trusting you will not drown.

My brain scrambled to make room for the existene of these people. Grandparents I'd never known. They went from hypothetical, empty memories to blurry, unformed shapes in my head. Dead one second, alive the next.
Kind of like me.

Truth is, I don't know. I don't know ... what I'm doing. Or why I'm doing it," he said. Which was the worst excuse in the history of excuses. "I don't know what's up or down anymore. I feel like I'm ... " He stopped speaking and winced.
"Drowning," I said. "You were going to say you feel like you're drowning."
He nodded. I wonder how many people I took with me when I feel into the lake. How many sunk with me. I thought I had been alone under the water, but maybe I wasn't.

I thought that this must be what purgatory was like. Can't go forward. Can't go back. Awaiting some official judgment.

Here were thirty-two guards on the island, and I escaped.

Then there was this empty silence-a hole in the noisy crowd. Troy watched me, Dad watched Troy watching me, and I watched Dad watching Troy watching me. I cleared my throat and said, It's getting late.

Time isn't running out. It's not even real," he said, and I knew I had lost him - he was lost, circling in his own mind. "It's just a measure of distance we made up to understand things. Like an inch. Or a mile.

You want to believe you're not the saddest person in the world.

The darkness lives in everyone. She knew this better than anyone. Everyone had two faces, and she looked deep into us until she found it.

Or maybe I just wasn't looking. I hadn't known that a light could be a feeling and a sound could be a color and a kiss could be both a question and an answer. And that heaven could be the ocean or a person or this moment or something else entirely. But today, heaven was a wood-floored room with blue walls and a messy desk and Decker not letting go. He was still holding onto me.

I hated that I felt jealous. Hated it. It's not like I'd been on my own waiting for him, just like he hadn't been waiting alone for me. We had lived, for two years. Made choices and mistakes, had good days and bad days.

I wanted to rewind. Go back. Tell Decker to take the long way around. Go back even further. Ask Decker to stay inside with me. I would have told him something important, and it would've mattered. Before all this, it would've mattered.

If there's a feeling to home, it's this. A place where there are no secrets, where nothing stays buried; not the past and not yourself. Where you can be all the versions of you, see it all reflected back at you as you walk the same stairs, the same halls, the same rooms. Feel the ghost of your mother as you sit at the kitchen table, hear the words of your father circling round and round after dinner, and your brother stopping by, wishing you'd be a little better, a little stronger ... It's four walls echoing back everything you've ever been and everything you've ever done, and it's the people who stay despite it all. Through it all. For it all.

I miss it like an ex-con misses the other inmates.

Because the thing about standing here in the middle of the mountains with the rain coming down, in a house your grandfather built, is that it's too easy to notice how insignificant you are. How quickly you might go from something to nothing.

Who would win in a fight? The past or the future? The past. Every time. It was relentless.

Stop talking now. Dom told us how you work. You take information, and then you use it.
It's such an absurd statement, I have no idea how on earth to respond. Isn't that exactly what you're supposed to do with information? Do people just collect it and store it, spouting out facts when prompted like a computer?

Here's the thing I've learned about leaving - you can't really go back

We were a town full of fear, searching for answers. But we were also a town full of liars.

Alot can happen in eleven minutes. Decker can run two miles in eleven minutes. I once wrote an English essay in ten. And God knows Carson Levine can talk a girl out of her clothes in less then half that time.
Eleven minutes might as well be eternity underwater. It only takes three minutes without air for loss consciousness. Permanent brain damange begins at four minutes. And then, when the oxygen runs out, full cardiac arrest occurs. Death is possible at five minutes. Probable at seven. Definite at ten.
Decker pulled me out at eleven.

I wasn't athletic and had no desire to work out, so I watched what I ate. Correction: I ate what I wanted and felt guilty about it later.

But the simple truth was that when a girl like Corinne loves you, you don't ask why. You just hope it doesn't change. Tyler

The first time I died, I didn't see God. No light at the end of the tunnel. No haloed angels. No dead grandparents. To be fair, I probably wasn't a solid shoo-in for Heaven. But, honestly, I kind of assumed I'd make the cut.