Isaac Marion
Isaac Marion
Isaac Marion is an American writer. He is best known as the best-selling author of the "zombie romance" novel Warm Bodies...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionWriter
CountryUnited States of America
choices known happened
What happened? How did I get here? How could I have known that my choices mattered?
what-matters want next
But we don’t remember those lives. We can’t read our diaries.’ ‘It doesn’t matter. We are where we are, however we got here. What matters is where we go next.’ ‘But can we choose that?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘We’re Dead. Can we really choose anything?’ ‘Maybe. If we want to bad enough.
dark night cities
I'm alone, stumbling through the city in the dark, trying not to let the night freeze my blood.
strong believe hands
... we shoved out many hopes and fears into their hands, believing those hands were strong because they had firm handshakes. They failed us, always. There was no way they could not fail us - they were human, and so were we.
light moments pretending
The moment the light went out, everyone stopped pretending.
thinking
...thinking all this maximalism would somehow generate happiness?
needs study made
God has made us study partner. We need to talk about our project.
wrecks alive happy-person
It's not like I'm such a shiny happy person either, you know? I'm a wreck too, I'm just... still alive.
valleys hills heartbeat
I feel the flatline of my existence disrupting, forming heartbeat hills and valleys
dark
We're fumbling in the dark, but at least we're in motion.
inevitable-death years forever
Here it comes. My inevitable death, ignoring me all those years when I wished for it daily, arriving only after I've decided I want to live forever.
memories fire one-day
What happened to the world was gradual. I've forgotten what it actually was, but I have faint, fetal memories of what it was like. A smoldering dread that never really caught fire till there wasn't much left to burn. Each sequential step surprised us. Then one day we woke up, and everything was gone.
memories past opposites
That's why we have memory. And the opposite of memory— hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can built off our pasts and make future.
hurt pain hate
I hate that she's hurt. I hate that she's been hurt, by me and by others, throughout the entire arc of her life. I barely remember pain, but when I see it in her I feel it in myself, in disproportionate measure. it creeps into my eyes, stinging, burning.