Lauren Oliver
Lauren Oliver
Lauren Oliveris an American author of the New York Times bestselling YA novels Before I Fall, which was published in 2010; Panic; and the Delirium trilogy: Delirium, Pandemonium and Requiem, which have been translated into more than thirty languages. She is a 2012 E.B. White Read-Aloud Award nominee for her middle-grade novel Liesl & Po, as well as author of the fantasy middle-grade novel The Spindlers. Panic, which was published in March 2014, has been optioned by Universal Pictures in...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth8 November 1982
CityQueens, NY
CountryUnited States of America
I love you. Remember. And someday, I will find you again.
people do terrible things, sometimes, for the best reasons.
The whole point of growing up is learning to stay on the laughing side.
That's the easy thing about falling: there is only one choice after that.
But from the beginning, I knew that in a world where destiny was dead, I was destined, forever, to love him. Even though he didn't - though he couldn't - ever love me back.
Is it possible to tell the truth in a society of lies? Or must you always, of necessity, become a liar?
Love is the only thing in the world worth having. You must never loose it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.
There are more of us than you think.
The reason you can never go home again isn't necessarily that places change, but people do. So nothing ever looks the same.
Something must die so that others can live.
I guess there are some things you never get used to.
The tunnels may be long, and twisted, and dark; but you are supposed to go through them.
Additionally, Liesl and Po is the embodiment of what writing has always been for me at its purest and most basic--not a paycheck, certainly; not an idea, even; and not an escape. Actually, it is the opposite of an escape; it is a way back in, a way to enter and make sense of a world that occasionally seems harsh and terrible and mystifying. (From the "Author's Note" at the end).
What does it feel like to be infected?" "I-- I can't describe it." I force the words out. Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe. His skin smells like smoke from a wood fire, like soap, like heaven. I imagine tasting his skin; I imagine biting his lips. "I want to know." His words are a whisper, barely audible. "I want to know with you.