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...and I have this stupid little thought that Aaron didn't survive the croc attack after all, that he died but he's so pissed off at me that dying didn't stop him from coming here to kill me anyway.
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Doing what's right should be easy. It shouldn't be just another big mess like everything else.
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Me and Todd? Together against the Mayor?" She smiles. "He doesn't stand a chance.
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Even when peaceful cooperation is the obvious thing, the only thing that will keep any of us alive- There are still people who won't make that choice.
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No one escapes from a war. No one. Not even the survivors. You accept things that would appall you at any other time because life has temporarily lost all meaning.
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Don't think you haven't lived long enough to have a story to tell.
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Teenagers are the greatest readers in the world - honest, unsnobby and loyal.
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You can eff off, too," I say, except I don't say eff, I say what 'eff' stands for.
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I don't know how much time passes with us just lying there, just feeling that the other is really there, really true, really alive, feeling the safety of him, his weight against mine, the roughness of his fingers touching my face, his warmth and his smell and the dustiness of his clothes, and we barely speak...
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There's always beauty, if you know where to look.
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This is how we are protecting you, by getting you out.
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We all fall but that's not what matters. What matters is picking yourself up again.
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You said we all want there to be more than this! Well, there's always more than this. There's always something you don't know.
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You be as angry as you need to be,” she said. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not your grandma, not your dad, no one. And if you need to break things, then by God, you break them good and hard.
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If you ever see a war," she says, not looking up from her clipboard, "you'll learn that war only destroys. No one escapes from a war. No one. Not even the survivors.
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You do not write your life with words...You write it with actions. What you think is not important. It is only important what you do.
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And it feels like, finally.
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If the world wants you, it's gonna keep on coming till it gets you. And who am I that can fix it? Who am I that can change this if the world wants it so badly? Who am I to stop the end of the world if it keeps on coming?
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I was a hugely unchaperoned reader, and I would wander into my local public library and there sat the world, waiting for me to look at it, to find out about it, to discover who I might be inside it.
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So the good prince was a murderer and the evil queen wasn't a witch after all.
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It was solitude, but it was solitude that wasn't lonely. Solitude that could sort things out. And he hadn't had that in ages.
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Life ain't fair. It ain't. Not never. It's pointless and stupid and there's only suffering and pain and people who want to hurt you. You can't love nothing or no one cuz it'll all be taken away or ruined and you'll be left alone and constantly having to fight, constantly having to run just to stay alive.
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And the pain is too much it's too much it's too much and my hands are on my head and I'm rearing back and my mouth is open in a never-ending wordless wail of all the blackness that's inside me. And i fall back into it.
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The green things of this world are just wondrous, aren’t they?” his mother went on. “We work so hard to get rid of them when sometimes they’re the very thing that saves us.