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As soon as the words slip past my lips, I wish I could grab them with my hands and crush them in my fists. But I can’t. The words are there.
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It’s not selfish to be yourself and pursue your dreams.
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I think his chutz is up, don't you?
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And I try to remember if this happened before, because this is a memory I would want to keep. But there is no echo of it in my mind.
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I quit thinking.
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I will never, never be the same. I have seen stars. Real stars.
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Eldest thinks power is control, that the best way to be a leader is to force everyone into obedience. Holding Amy against me, I realize the simple truth is that power isn't control at all-power is strength, and giving that strength to others. A leader isn't someone who forces others to make him stronger; a leader is someone willing to give his strength to other so that they may have the strength to stand on their own. This is what I've been looking for since the first day I was told that I was born to lead this ship. Leading Godspeed has nothing to do with being better than everyone else, with commanding and forcing and manipulating. Eldest isn't a leader. He's a tyrant. A leader doesn't make pawns-he makes people.
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Maybe I'm reading too much into this. It's probably nothing. But I've had "nothing" for too long, and I'm ready for something. Anything.
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The three hardest parts of writing a novel are writing the beginning, the middle, and the end.
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Why wouldn’t it be the government? It’s not like we have a perfectly operational terrorist group right here to do it.
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I shut my eyes, and I force myself to feel myself. You never really think of what it’s like to be in your body, but even with my eyes shut, I can feel the boundaries of my skin, real or not. Everything that’s me is contained inside this body, and I feel it all. The heartbeat I cannot control. The mind that may not be mine. I am here, in this moment, in this body. All that I am—maybe not all that I ever was, but all that I currently am—is right here.
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It Will be better to die quickly with only the taste of freedom on our lips than to live long lives pretending not to see the walls that imprison us.
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When you wake up, your face will be dry. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t cry.
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I would use the same word to describe both my joy and the rain: torrential. This—this—this is all I ever wanted from the world: wide-open spaces and cooling rain and the chance to run.
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I may have spent the morning tracking down a lunatic thanks to a holographic image of my dad, hallucinated, and wound up in a potential terrorist’s office where I had a super weird conversation, but at least pastizzi are normal.
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But death doesn't work like that. It doesn't care if someone loves you, doesn't want you to go. It just takes. It takes and it takes until eventually you have nothing left.
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It's not knowing that's killing me. Not knowing if there's a chance that something can change, not knowing if there's hope at all.
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I feel hollow inside, as if there’s a black hole where my heart was, as if I am caving in around myself.
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You can burn fear away after every nightmare you've ever had comes true.
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And I know what I told my father was true: let us taste the world, and we’ll do whatever it takes to shape it into our home.
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Don't you see? Those monsters you've been so worried about. Not aliens. People. The monsters have always been people.
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Failure makes the success worth it.