Elizabeth Scott Quotes
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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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I heard how people sounded when their dreams were shattered, when their lives were turned into a waking nightmare.
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How can I remember a world that isn't mine? One that isn't the one I wake up in every day now?
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I'll always remember taking your hand and telling you that everything would be okay.
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I will always know what life can take, but I am ready to see what it can give.
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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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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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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 do not fall. I fell so hard so long ago there is nothing left for me to land on. I just keep falling and falling and falling.
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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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I didn't want it to be one good memory that led to a lot of bad ones. I wanted it to stay what it was, one amazing moment, something that was strong and sweet enough to stand on its own. Something I could remember without any pain.
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This is what happiness is, past the rubbish of its overuse as a word, past the cracked gloss of the letters that mean nothing when strung together. They mean something now, and I know what it’s like when you and someone else are right together. How simple it is, and how amazing.
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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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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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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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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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...sometimes, you have to break your own heart.
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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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Anger can try to break your heart, but sorrow is what will. What can. What does.
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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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The heart is a place with worm holes made by feelings you aren't supposed to have but do.
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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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Maybe you and I have to learn how to live with what we saw. With what we know.
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Love-real love-can’t be defined. It just is.