Ellen Hopkins
Ellen Hopkins
Ellen Louise Hopkinsis a novelist who has published several New York Times bestselling novels that are popular among the teenage and young adult audience...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth26 March 1955
CityLong Beach, CA
CountryUnited States of America
memories pain lying
All I can do is lie here, brain turning somersaults. It's nights like these when memories stir, whipping themselves into stiff peaks of pain.
memories rainbow cameras
Memory is a tenuous thing, like a rainbow's end or a camera with a failing lens.
memories healing blood
My body Healed quickly. But the wound to my psyche was deep. Wide. First aid, too little, too late, left me hemorrhaging inside, the blood unstaunched by psychological bandage or love's healing magic. Eventually it scabbed over, a thick, ugly welt of memory. I work to conceal it, but no matter how hard I try, once in a while something makes me pick at it until the scarring bleeds. In my arms, Ashante cries, innocence ripped apart by circumstance. Bloodied by inhuman will. Time will prove a tourniquet. But she will always be at risk of infection. (124)
sweet memories too-much
Too much to take in, too much to purge. Why must every memory, once sweet, dead end in such ugliness?
pain memories past
Memory is a tenuous thing. . . . flickering glimpses, blue and white, like ancient, decomposing 16mm film. Happiness escapes me there, where faces are vague and yesterday seems to come tied up in ribbons of pain. Happiness? I look for it intead in today, where memory is something I can still touch, still rely on. I find it in the smiles of new friends, the hope blossoming inside. My happiest memories have no place in the past; they are those I have yet to create.
memories past
My happiest memories have no place in the past; they are those I have yet to create.
pain memories cutting
Wish you could turn off the questions, turn off the voices, turn off all sound. Yearn to close out the ugliness, close out the filthiness, close out all light. Long to cast away yesterday, cast away memory, cast away all jeapordy. Pray you could somehow stop uncertainty, somehow stop the loathing, somehow stop the pain. Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put the gun to your chest.
memories wine pouring
Now that I have opened that bottle of memories they're pouring out like wine, crimson and bittersweet.
alone known
I couldn't have known 'Crank' was going to be published, let alone become a big hit. That book was very personal for me: I had to tell the story for myself.
believe pages sold verse
Believe it or not, I sold my first novel, 'Crank,' with only seventy-five pages complete. It was in verse then, and it was hard-hitting then.
people
There are people who think it's easier to write books in verse, and it's definitely not.
ask individual people
People inspire me. Everyone is such an individual and has unique stories. I'm a voyeur. I eavesdrop. Sometimes I ask questions. And sometimes people just want to tell me their stories.
best bit computers enjoy hot longer phones term
For short term relaxation, I take a hot tub. It's my best way to unblock writers' block, too. For a bit longer relaxation, I enjoy camping. Just being in the wilderness, with no phones or computers or anything I have to do really refreshes my spirit.
innocence nightmare
Innocence eroded into nightmare. All because of very bad touch. Love, corrupted.