Robyn Schneider Quotes

History is filled with fictional people.

Why do they even call it that, "saving yourself"? Like we need to be rescued from sex? It's not like virgins spend their whole lives engaged in the sacred ceremony of "being saved" from intercourse.

I suppose she didn't think anyone was looking and had let her guard down, the way you did in an empty room. The way I did when I closed the blinds and stared up at the ceiling fan above my bed, equally fascinated and horrified by the thoughts racing through my brain.

This was one of the last weekends before we'd be the seniors, and I was thinking about what that meant. About how these rituals of prom, the luau, and graduation that we'd watched for years were suddenly personal.

In AP Bio, I learned that the cells in our body are replaced every seven years, which means that one day, I'll have a body full of cells that were never sick. But it also means that parts of me that knew and loved Sadie will disappear. I'll still remember loving her, but it'll be a different me who loved her. And maybe this is how we move on. We grow new cells to replace the grieving ones, diluting our pain until it loses potency.

The percentage of my skin that touched hers will lessen until one day my lips won't be the same lips that kissed hers, and all I'll have are the memories. Memories of cottages in the woods, arranged in a half-moon. Of the tall metal tray return in the dining hall. Of the study tables in the library. The rock where we kissed. The sunken boat in Latham's lake, Sadie, snapping a photograph, laughing the lunch line, lying next to me at the movie night in her green dress, her voice on the phone, her apple-flavored lips on mine. And it's so unfair.

All of it.

You have this maddening little smile sometimes, like you've just thought of something incredibly witty but are afraid to say it in case no one gets the joke.

I had a massive bed at home, and I loved her dearly. She was my queen, and I was her loyal subject.

You can sound your barbaric yawp over the rooftops ... or suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune ... or seize the day ... or sail away from the safe harbor ... or seek a newer world ... or rage against the dying of the light,

I love that there's such a rivalry. It's like, leaf water versus bean water, ya know? - Charlie

It's strange how we can lose things that are still right there. How a barrier can go up at any moment, trapping you on the other side, keeping you from what you want. How the thing that hurt the most are the once we had.

They say your skin is the largest organ in your body, but I'd never really appreciated that before, the way his fingertips slowly tracing the curve of my jaw could travel down the entire length of my body, covering me in goose bumps. The way he could make me feel flushed with something that wasn't fever.

So anyway, I'm sorry I was a dick.'
'It's fine,' I said.
'No, shut up, I'm atoning.

Sorry,' I apologized, realizing she was the sort of girl who got upset when someone used an unfamiliar word, rather than learning what it meant.

You really know how to pick 'em, don't you?" Toby joked. "I think I'm cursed.

If everything really does get better, the way everyone claims, then happiness should be graphable. But that's crap, because better isn't quantifiable.

It was about being able to dance like Cassidy did, as though no one was watching, as though the moment was infinite enough without needing to document its existence.

Thinking about it like that made it more bearable, that we go back to God when we've had our turn, that some of us roll the dice less than we'd like, but that we're the ones who are rolling them.

Three more fireworks shot up over the freeway, contorting into purple stars as they burst against the dissipating smoke.

I didn't realise you'd ridden here on your high horse

Sometimes you look around at your life and you see a ghost of a different one. It watches from the wings like an understudy that knows it won't go on. The play unfolds, and eventually, when you glance backstage, that life you knew is gone, and no one watching ever knew it was there at all.

Austin believes that winning or losing in binary is meaningless when there's a high score to beat.

The pause in conversation when you're about to introduce someone but you've forgotten their name. There's a word for it. In Scotland, it's called a tartle.

See, that's a coffee drinker's problem,' Marina said. 'Meanwhile, I'm perfectly fine with tea bags.'
'I love that there's such a rivalry,' said Charlie. 'It's like, leaf watt versus bean water, you know?

I learned that the cells in our body are replaced every seven years, which means that one day, I'll have a body full of cells that were never sick. sbut it also means that the parts of me that knee and loved Sadie will disappear. I'll still remember loving her, but it'll be a different me who loved her. And maybe that is how we move on. We grow new cells to replace the grieving ones, diluting our pain until it loses potency.

Breathing: the miracle cure everyone's been looking for." -Lane-

I knew what is was like to have people stare at you with pity. For everyone's gaze to follow you through the hallways as though you were marked by tragedy and no longer belonged. And I could understand why she hadn't wanted that.

I'll keep going. Because that's all you can do in this world, no matter how strong the current beats against you, or how heavy your burden, or how tragic your love story. You keep going. It

The way I figured it, keeping quiet was safe. Words could betray you if you choose the wrong ones, or mean less if you used too many.

I read somewhere that the hair and fingernails on dead bodies don't actually grow, it just looks like they do because the skin contracts as the body dries out. So it's possible to lie even in death, to deceive people from beyond the

To Cassidy, the panopticon wasn't a metaphor. It was the greatest failing on everything she was, a prison she had built for herself out of an inability to appear anything less than perfect. And so she ghosted on, in relentless pursuit of escape, not from society, but from herself. She would always be confined by what everyone expected of her because she was too afraid and too unwilling to correct our imperfect imaginings.

As far as I know, scientists have yet to discover the proper reaction to I'm sorry.

But at the last minute, I turned left, because I never had before, and because I had time to go down a different road.

The perfect soundtrack for my personal hell.

Oh come on,'Pheobe continued. 'You're asking for it. Pale skin, black clothes, no lunch and that whole brooding thing? It's hilarious. You should get body glitter and go after an unsuspecting freshman.'
'You should!' Cassidy agreed. 'Tell her you're a dangerous monster. And mention how good her blood smells.'
'Wrong time of the month on that one, and I'm getting slapped,' I muttered, and everyone laughed.

For a moment, I wondered if I should just tell her that she was a selfish, reckless girl who thought the world owed her something simply because she was pretty, and that I didn't want to be around when she discovered it didn't.

And that was when I saw what Cassidy had done to herself: the gold and red ribbing on her sweater-vest, the matching stripes on her tie, the gray uniform skirt, and the navy blazer draped over her arm ...
"Is that a Gryffindor tie?" I asked.
"And an official Harry Potter Merchandise sweater-vest," she confirmed smugly.

I wondered what things what things became when you no longer needed them, and I wondered what the future would hold once we'd gotten past our personal tragedies and proven them ultimately survivable.

Oscar Wilde once said that to live is the rarest thing in the world, because most people just exist, and that's all. I don't know if he's right, but I do know that I spend a long time existing, and now, I intend to live.

Here, Faulkner. Behold the girly texts," Toby said, holding out his phone. "And note that I put up with them solely due to our friendship.

Actually, I was trying to figure out if we were on a date, albeit one that had started at eight thirty in the morning.

Steinbeck wrote about the tide pools and how profoundly they illustrate the interconnectedness of all things, folded together in an ever-expanding universe that's bound by the elastic string of time. He said that one should look from the tide pool to the stars, and then back again in wonder.

Still here, Faulkner?" Luke sneered.
"Still doing that terrible impression of Draco Malfoy?" I asked.

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Well, fresh air's supposedly good for us,' I said.
'Breathing: The miracle cure everyone's been looking for.

Austin was engrossed in some mobile gaming device. "No, no, bad portal," he scolded, totally oblivious to the world. "Stop - evil - eurgh! Suck my flagellated balls, douchenozzle!

I learned three things that night: 1) sharing a bed is't nearly as intimate as making out in a too-small back seat, 2) inexplicably, some bras unhook in the front, 3) Cassidy hadn't known I was Jewish.

Everything of who I was and who I wanted to be had been evicted to make room for this disease.

But the thing was:although I might not have been dying,I wasn't really living,either

I didn't want to kiss you good-bye - that was the trouble - I wanted to kiss you good night - and there's a lot of difference. - ERNEST HEMINGWAY Draw your chair up close to the edge of the precipice and I'll tell you a story. - F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

Ezra, the girl you're chasing after doesn't exist. I'm not some bohemian adventurer who takes you on treasure hunts and sends you secret messages. I'm this sad, lonely mess who studies too much and pushes people away and hides in her haunted house.

I'm so sorry. I always felt like there was something off about me, and now I know. I'm broken."
It wrecked me all over again to hear her say that.
"You're not broken."
"Then how come I can't be fixed?" she asked, shaking as she held back tears. "If I'm not broken, how come no one can fix me?

Well, Mr. Illiterate Jock, let me enlighten you. There was this philosopher-slash-historian called Foucault, who wrote about how society is like this legendary prison called the panopticon. In the panopticon, you might be under constant observation, except you can never be sure whether someone is watching or not, so you wind up following the rules anyway."
"But how do you know who's a watcher and who's a prisoner?" I asked, pulling into the empty parking lot.
"That's the point. Even the watchers are prisoners. Come on, let's go on the swings.

You forgot how to be awesome because you were too busy being cool

You're the one who has to live with your choice. Everyone else will get over it, move on, no matter what you decide. But you never will.

The world tends toward chaos, you know, Cassidy said. You could too. Just write down a made up name, or even a fictional character. And the next person who finds this geocache, it's as though things really hapened that way. You have to at least allow for the possibility of it.

By the time I packed up, I wondered if I'd really been looking for Cassidy after all, or if I'd been hoping to find myself.

Usually spending any amount of time with someone was a forcible reminder of how much I'd rather be alone.

No one went looking for adventure; they chased it away.

I wondered what things became when you no longer needed them, and I wondered what the future would hold once we'd gotten past our personal tragedies and proven them ultimately survivable. When

But we're the ones who choose, in the end, how people see us.

One thing I've noticed is that the only places people insist you relax are the least relaxing places on the planet.

So I went to sleep thinking of her, of the curve of her back in a light cotton dress, of her hair twisted up into its crown of braids, of her, leaping from the zenith of the plastic swing set and clearing the sandbox, turning a neat lap around the whole of Eastwood, California, while I stood there, trapped in the dreariness of it all, numbly watching.

There's a word for it," she told me, "in French, for when you have a lingering impression of something having passed by. Sillage. I always think of it when a firework explodes and lights up the smoke from the ones before it."
"That's a terrible word," I teased. "It's like an excuse for holding onto the past."
"Well, I think it's beautiful. A word for remembering small moments destined to be lost.

There. You see? You're just figuring it out now, but I discovered a long time ago that the smarter you are, the more tempting it is to just let people imagine you. We move through each other's lives like ghosts, leaving behind haunting memories of people who never existed. The popular jock. The mysterious new girl. But we're the ones who choose, in the end, how people see us. And I'd rather be misremembered. Please, Ezra, misremember me.

I'm going to be okay," Sadie promised as I left.
"I know you are," I said, except they were just empty hospital words, the kind that you wish were true becuase the alternative is too painful to bear.

It had hurt to accept what was wrong with me, but it hurt even more to have hope.

I almost wished he'd debated Cassidy in her ridiculous Harry Potter costume, so she could've wiped the smirk off his muggle face.

And being healthy, being okay, wouldn't feel normal at all. It would feel incredible.

Ain can't be taken away. It has to leave on its own. And I wasn't sure mine was the type of pain that wanted to go away.

Definitely. I've got posters of girls in bikinis, too. And like, a whole bedside drawer of lube." "I would be disappointed if you didn't." Cassidy laughed.

Like tonight, when everyone dressed as zombies, and you wore that. I mean, don't you want to be like everyone else?" "Not particularly," I said, willing her to finally understand how much I had changed, and how very little she knew about me.

I don't see the point in caffeine without coffee. Or coffee without caffeine, for that matter, I informed him.

For the girl who secretly hoped she'd get a Hogwarts letter -
For the girl who makes wishes on every 11:11 -
For the girl who ran out of space on her bookshelves and bought this book anyway

But second chances aren't forever Even miracles have an expiration date.

And the thing about trying to cheat death is that, in the end, you still lose.

The funny thing about gold is how quickly it can tarnish.

Just once I want someone to be afraid of losing me," Phoebe said. "But the only thing Luke's afraid of losing is power.

It wasn't the life I'd wanted, but it was the life I had, and I was finally starting to accept that.

I mean, don't you want to be like everyone else?"
"Not particularly.

I shrugged and waited for the doors to close before sliding my arm around her waist.

I reached for the switch on my desk lamp and flashed HELLO.
The lights switched off in Cassidy's bedroom, and her flashlight flicked on.
SORRY.
"She's sorry," I told Cooper, because he didn't understand Morse code.
He lifted his head as if to say But you already knew that, old sport.
Her flashlight flickered again.
FORGIVE ME.
This time, I didn't hesitate.
ALWAYS, I replied.

is how he printed up all of this fake money and threw it into a crowd. People thought it was real and tried to spend it in shops, and they were so angry when they found out it was fake. But now, those bills sell for a fortune on eBay. It's simultaneously real and not real, you know? Worthless as currency, but not as art . . . my brother asked for one of those bills for Christmas a few years ago, and my mom assumed he wanted it framed, and he said he'd just stick it in his wallet because it was one of the few works of art you could carry in your pocket.

And so she ghosted on, in relentless pursuit of escape, not from society, but from herself.

Omigod, I'm so bored I could shoot myself in the head with a knife.

You could roll the same side over and over again, the laws of the universe intact and unchanging with each turn. It's only when you consider the past that the odds change. That things become less and less likely." -Lane-

I was focusing on the now. But that didn't mean I couldn't still wonder about what came after.

There was no half-assing a descent into hell.

But I didn't care, because the magnificent possibility of kissing Cassidy Thorpe had turned into an indisputable fact of my daily existence ...

It was like Latham: sometimes the point wasn't being the best, because it didn't mean you had the best life, or the best friends, or the best time.

Cassidy sat down next to me, her dress teasing me as it fluttered in the breeze.

It' so funny how small moments can ruin everything.

There was this philosopher-slash-historian called Foucault, who wrote about how society is like this legendary prison called panopticon. In the panopticon, you might be underconstant observation, except you can never be sure whether someone is watching or not, so you wind up following the rules anyway."
"But how do you know who's a watcher and who's a prisoner?" ...
"That's the point. Even the watchers are prisoners.

That's not to say we were totally innocent of any public displays of affection; there was some hand-holding and the occasional hurried good-bye kiss on even days, when we had different sixth periods.

You see? You're just figuring it out now, but I discovered a long time ago that the smarter you are, the more tempting it is to just let people imagine you. We move through each other's lives like ghosts, leaving behind haunting memories of people who never existed.

You'll never escape the panopticon thinking like that.

No, Charlotte, I'm not going to tell him," I said drily. "The hymen of your integrity remains intact. Your precious jewel of a reputation is un-besmirched.

I climbed into my car and started to head home, my visor down against the glare of the sun. But at the last minute, I turned left, because I never had before, and because I had time to go down different road.

I just hadn't wanted to admit it, because admitting it meant acknowledging the possibility that the odds might be in my favor. And that possibility was terrifying.

The finality of her leaving allowed me to reclaim the places that had once been ours as mine, to say good-bye to my childhood parks and hiking trails rather than grasping for lost moments with a lost girl who refused to be found.

I have a theory that life is gathering the raw materials, and when we die, we get to make patterns out of our lives and relive them in whatever order we want. That way I can spend forever repeating the days when I was really happy, and never have to experience any of the sad days. So that's how you live a really great life. You make sure you have enough good days that you want to go back to.

Ever wanted to make out in an elevator?" I asked, grinning.