Elizabeth Scott Quotes
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I don’t think I could have picked a worse guy to be my soul mate.
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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.
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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.
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This death expert said it's everything underground that makes grass so green. That dead things make the living. 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.
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I love the me I am with him. I’m the girl who has Dave. I’m Lauren, Dave’s girlfriend. I’m someone better than Lauren Smith, who no one noticed till Dave came along. The thing is, that girl isn’t me and I know it. But when I’m with him, I feel like I could be her. That if something in me was just–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.
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The heart is a place with worm holes made by feelings you aren't supposed to have but do.
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Anger can try to break your heart, but sorrow is what will. What can. What does.
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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.
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Please. If you were mostly dead in the middle of the road I'd obviously stop. And then I'd watch you die.
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Maybe you and I have to learn how to live with what we saw. With what we know.
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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.
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I wants us to be real. I want to be just you and me.
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She has no idea who I am, not really. She's just someone who's noticed me because the video and she'll forget what she's said before the day is over. Me? Not so much, but I go on, my legs shaking and a mix of anger and despair burning inside me.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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..."Are you okay?" he says, still looking at me, and I feel my smile slip, fade, and the silence that falls over us then is so total I can’t hear anything, not the rush-hiss of my heart pounding in my chest, not the sounds all around us; insects, wind, and the distant clatter of others’ lives in houses built close but not too close because when we look out our windows we all like to pretend that everything we see is ours. But Ryan is not mine.
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I thought living dead girls couldn't feel pain, thought I was emptied out but I'm not, I'm not.
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My mother taught me to believe in silver, to believe in things, but I think it's more important to believe in me.
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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?
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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.
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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.
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Love-real love-can’t be defined. It just is.
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She became a story, one I have mostly forgotten. One I can't end because she died a long time ago.