And I vaguely remember her smiling at me from the door way the glittering ambiguity of a girls smile, which seems to promise an answer to the question, but never gives it. The question, the one we've all been asking since girls stopped being gross, the question that is to simple to be uncomplicated: Does she like me or does she LIKE me?
I hated cranberry sauce, but for some reason my mom persisted in her lifelong belief that it was my very favorite food, even though every single Thanksgiving I politely declined to include it on my plate.
Not the brightest gem in the jewelry shop, but you've got to admire his single-minded dedication to drug abuse.
You can say a lot of bad things about Alabama, but you can't say that Alabamans as a people are duly afraid of deep fryers.
Because no one can catch the motherfucking fox.
I wouldn't have cared if my girlfriend was a Jaguar-driving Cyclops with a beard - I'd have been grateful just to have someone to make out with.
The light filtered throught the leaves and pine needles above as if through lace, the ground spotted in shadow.
Getting pissed wouldn't fix it. Damn it.
It was not an eventful day. I should have done extraordinary things. I should have sucked the marrow out of life. But on that day, I slept eighteen hours out of a possible twenty-four.
We are as indestructible as we believe ourselves to be.
And I wrote my way out of the labyrinth.
I hated sports. I hated sports, and I hated people who played them, and I hated people who watched them, and I hated people who didn't hate people who watched or played them.
Not to ask the obvious question, but why Alaska?
You can say a lot of things about Alabama, but you can't say that Alabamans as a people are unduly afraid of deep fryers.
Because you simply cannot draw things out forever. At some point, you just pull off the Band-Aid and it hurts, but then it's over and you're relieved.
I'd rather wonder than get answers I couldn't live with.
The nature of the labyrinth, I scribbled into my spiral notebook, and the way out of it. This teacher rocked. I hated discussion classes. I hated talking, and I hated listening to everyone else stumble on their words and try to phrase things in the vaguest possible way so they wouldn't sound dumb, and I hated how it was all just a game of trying to figure out what the teacher wanted to hear and then saying it. I'm in class, so teach me.
How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?
It's not life or death, the labyrinth. Suffering. Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?
We are engaged here in the most important pusuit in history. The search for meaning. What is What is the nature of being a person? What is the best way to go about being a person?How did we come to be, and wha will become of us when we are no longer? In short: What are the rules this game, and how might we best play it?
And in my classes, I will talk most of the time, and you will listen most of the time. Because you may be smart, but I've been smart longer.
I have guts, just not when it counts.
People, I thought, wanted security. They couldn't bear the idea of death being a big black nothing, couldn't bear the thought of their loved ones not existing, and couldn't even imagine themselves not existing. I finally decided that people believed in an afterlife because they couldn't bear not to.
You can't just make me different, and the leave. Because I was fine before.
Before I got here, I thought for a long time that the way out of the labyrinth was to pretend that it did not exist, to build a small, self-sufficient world in the back corner of the endless maze and to pretend that i was not lost, but home.
If drunk were cookies, I'd be Famous Amos
The only thing worse than having a party that no one attends is having a party attended only by two vastly, deeply uninteresting people.
I began to swim, an armless silver mermaid, using only my hips to generate motion, until finally my ass scraped against the lake's mucky bottom. I turned then and used my hips and waist to roll three times, until I came ashore near a ratty green towel. They'd left me a towel. How thoughtful.
Last words are always harder to remember when no one knows that someone's about to die.
We didn't talk much. But we didn't need to.
More John Green Quotations (Based on Topics)
People - Time - World - Education - Death & Dying - Mind - Thought & Thinking - Life - Pain - Belief & Faith - Suffering - Facts - Business & Commerce - Conservative - Place - Fathers - Nature - Sense & Perception - Light - View All John Green Quotations
More John Green Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Looking for Alaska
- Paper Towns
- The Fault in Our Stars
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