Beth Revis Quotes
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We are, at least in part, who we remember ourselves to be. Take away our memories, and you take away our selves.
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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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She stops speaking, but I can hear her silent sobs. They’re the loudest thing I’ve ever heard.
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People will survive anything for their children.
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But, really, grief left a hole in you, and while you healed around the hole, you never didn't have it. A piece of you was gone. You couldn't heal something that wasn't there.
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But how can I be disappointed in space?
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I never thought about how important the sky was until I didn't have one.
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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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God, did they know? A year made the world of difference! This was one more year I could be with Jason, one more year I could live! I signed up for three hundred years. . . not three hundred and one!
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And there is nothing between us but rain. Then there is nothing between us at all.
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The truth is, sometimes siblings have nothing in common but blood...Sometimes you stay up late at night, thinking things that make you feel like a heartless monster, wishing for something different and then feeling sick with guilt because you know what the cost of "different" would be...There's a difference between having no siblings and having a broken one.
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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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When I get to my room, the first thing I do is punch the button that operates the blind over the window. The room dims. Good. I want darkness.
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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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There are countless reasons to be jealous. But that doesn’t mean you have to succumb to them.
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We’re so close we could touch. All it would take is for me to reach out my hand. But neither of us makes a move.
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You never know. Something small and broken really can be powerful.
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I am as silent as death. Do this: Go to your bedroom. Your nice, safe, warm bedroom that is not a glass coffin behind a morgue door. Lie down on your bed not made of ice. Stick your fingers in your ears. Do you hear that? The pulse of life from your heart, the slow in-and-out from your lungs? Even when you are silent, even when you block out all noise, your body is still a cacophony of life. Mine is not. It is the silence that drives me mad. The silence that drives the nightmares to me. Because what if I am dead? How can someone without a beating heart, without breathing lungs live like I do? I must be dead. And this is my greatest fear: After 301 years, when they pull my glass coffin from this morgue, and they let my body thaw like chicken meat on the kitchen counter, I will be just like I am now. I will spend all of eternity trapped in my dead body. There is nothing beyond this. I will be locked within myself forever. And I want to scream. I want to throw open my eyes wake up and not be alone with myself anymore, but I can't. I can't.
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It’s not selfish to be yourself and pursue your dreams.
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Is almost a good enough reason for fear?
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Death is easy, and sudden, and can’t be stopped.
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A few months ago, I would have thrown this book down in disgust and walked away—maybe even returned home, where the only books I knew reminded me of my father. But now… My fingers wrapped around the spine of the book. Now I was willing to try anything.
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This is... mating, it's not love.
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I will never, never be the same. I have seen stars. Real stars.