Best 53 quotes of Amie Kaufman on MyQuotes

All he cares about here on the edge of forever, is her. He does not want to die. Not because he is afraid. Simply because he cannot bear the thought of leaving her behind.

Almost every particle in the universe was once part of a star. Every atom in your body. The metal in your chair, the oxygen in your lungs, the carbon in your bones. All those atoms were forged in a cosmic furnace over a million kilometers wide, billions of light-years from here. The confluence of events that led to this moment is so remote as to be almost impossible. Our very existence is a miracle.

AND SO I LET PIECES OF ME KEEP FALLING AWAY. AND SHE SAYS I DO NOT CARE…

And like roses in his hands, death blooms.

Are you afraid?" "Yes." "Energy never stops, remember. It just changes forms." "I am still afraid.

Before this moment, I have never whished to be something other than what I am. Never felt so keenly the lack of hands with which to touch, the lack of arms whith which to hold. Why did they give me this sense of self? Why allow me the intellect by which to measure this complete inadequacy? I would rather be numb than stand here in the light of a sun that can never chase the chill away

But free will is what it means to be human, and no one can determine the path you take through this universe. Choice is our greatest right, our greatest gift-and our greatest responsibility.

But we have seen how brightly light shines in the dark, how sweetly music fills the quiet. All these years you have known only shadow and silence, and we have so much to show you. To save you. I am not worth saving. We are all worth saving. How can you know? We cannot ever know, not truly. But we have faith.

But when there's no hope to be found anywhere, even the tiniest chance is worth taking.

But who names a starship the Icarus? What kind of man possess that much hubris, that he dares it to fall?

Clear skies, cousin". Good luck, he means. There are never clear skies on Avon, no blue, no stars. But we don't give up hope, and we use those words to remind ourselves. Clear skies will come, one day.

Dislike is much easier to handle than sympathy.

Everyone here wants to believe the guys in charge know exactly what they’re doing, but of course they don’t.

Flynn -I'm glad you ruined me." Her voice stabs my heart, because I recognize that tone. I've heard it before. "Don't start with the good-byes

Forget everything else. Forget everyone else. You're exactly my kind of girl.

Good luck, everyone. Good luck to us all. And may we meet again on distant shores. Some place fine and far from here.

Guys like this make me want to believe in God.

He can’t take his eyes off the stars, but I can’t take mine off his face.

He can’t take his eyes off the stars, but I can’t take mine off his face. I can see the stars reflected in his eyes, can see the wonder of it in the way his mouth opens but no sound comes out. His eyes, his face—they’re beautiful.

He’s as tense as I am, maybe even more so, but it’s so hard to reconcile that with the serenity of weightlessness. His faux-blond hair is floating out away from his head. He’s wearing a worn, much-mended, and too-large shirt his friend in town must’ve found for him to help him blend in. He looks nothing like the Romeo who dragged me off the base, nothing like the Cormac who threw himself between his own people and me. It’s like that guy’s gone, and I killed him.

His eyes move to my lips, and I know he’s thinking the same thing; I can feel it in the way the air charges between us. I can almost taste him half an inch away, can feel the way the tiny hairs on my skin lift and reach for him like plants seeking the sunlight.

His face is close to mine, his hand warm against my back through my shirt. Despite the smile on his lips, his gaze is so sad it feels like my heart is ripping in two, turning to ash as I look at him. He knows as well as I do that neither of us is leaving Avon alive if we touch down again. He’ll never see snow, and I’ll never teach him what skis are.

I AM NOT. AND THEN I AM. I WONDER IF THAT WAS DEATH.

...if you ever wanted to take a run at it, I'd say now's your time. There's hardly any competition, unless you count me. Though I am of course very handsome, even dead.

I listen to his heartbeat. Hear him breathe. As though becomes motion and motion becomes all that lies between him and his end. As the black Is burning blue with the light of tiny funeral pyres. As his missiles and bullets take away his enemy. All they were and will ever be. I can taste it in his whispers. See it in the tiny photograph he has taped to his console. All he thinks of amid this loveless dance. All he cares about here on the edge of forever, is her. He does not want to die. Not because he is afraid. Simply because of he cannot bear the thought of leaving her behind. And there, in that tiny moment, I envy him.

I’m sorry,” I whisper. My cold lips fumble the words. “Don’t be.” His voice is a low rumble against me, the sound carrying through my bones, clearer than any of the voices I’ve been hearing. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.

[Inaudible profanity.]

I never knew it was possible to be so miserable in so many ways.

Interviewer: So. Tell me about your mother. Ezra: You're taping this, right? Interviewer: Audio only. Camera is faulty. Ezra: Okay, well for the benefit of the sight-impaired, I am now raising my… oh, dear… yes, it's my MIDDLE finger at Mr. Postgrad here. Interviewer: Mr. Mason... Ezra: Now I'm wiggling it. Interviewer: Terminating interview at 13:58 on 03/19/75. Ezra: Look at it wiggl- -audio ends-

In the bar, the jukebox comes on. Molley must be trying to drown out the sounds of raised voices. I move toward her, unable to resist; her eyes are wet, her face flushed, and I can finally look at her, want her, let myself touch her without grief turning everything to ashes in my mouth.

I reach for her hand and wind my fingers through hers, turning them so the rain patters down onto her palm. I trace a circle there with my thumb, smoothing the water in her skin. I want to show her there's nothing to be afraid of.

It's not that he's choosing me, a girl he met less than a month ago--he's choosing a world in which no one has to die.

I’ve seen people die. Die hard. Die messy. Job like mine, you live with the reaper every day. But i’d youre unlucky, it’s not that bullets that kill you in this gig. It’s moments like these. Killing you one piece at a time. It’s not the bullets that kill you. It’s moments like these. One piece at a time. I’d prefer a thousand bullets to a moment like this.

May we meet again on distant shores.

My breath catches, responding to an unfamiliar pull in my chest, an ache in my soul. I shouldn’t miss him, but I do; this boy who had every right to pull that trigger, and instead threw himself between me and death. This boy, the only one who believes I’m not what they say I am what I believed I was; a soldier without a soul, a girl with no heart to break. He’s the only one who’s proved me wrong.

Nothing ceases to exist. Energy does not perish, it merely changes forms. The ones you love, the ones you lose, they still exist as long as the cosmos does.

Promise me that no matter what you hear, you won’t go off on your own to investigate. I want your word.” There’s a command in his voice, soft as it is.

Sometimes you take all my words away from me.

The decker these ***holes brought with them is top tier, but I'm going to stomp his jelly beans so hard his kids will be born crooked.

The girl looks out the window, watching the gentle, familiar blue sky fade into darkness. The stars come out, slowly at first and then all together, diamond-bright, each one a new world to discover. But no matter how long the girl looks, she feels nothing. Puzzled, she looks for the girl who wanted to be an explorer, the girl who wanted to learn deep-sea diving and mountain-climbing, the girl who wanted to travel the stars. But she can't find her. That girl died when her parents did, in a little shop in the slums of November. And now she has no soul left to shatter. She closes the shade over the window.

The glow flares bright—bright as the billion-year-old light around us. Bright as a sun. Almost every particle in the universe was once part of a star. First, hydrogen condensing and collapsing, bringing radiance to the void. Furnaces burning bright, then fading, giving all they had left back into the cosmos. Carbon and oxygen. Iron and gold. Vast clouds swirling with their own gravity. Coalescing and disintegrating. Generation to generation. The remnants of stellar alchemy, stirring into life, then consciousness. Crawling from the oceans. Taking to the skies. And from there, back to the stars that birthed them. A perfect circle.

THE LINCOLN HAS ITS SCARS ALSO. MY FINGERPRINTS ACROSS ITS THROAT.

Then she smiles, and it turns out she has dimples, and it's all over.

There are never clear skies on Avon, no blue, no stars. But we don’t give up hope, and we use those words to remind ourselves. Clear skies will come, one day.

This time I look at him longer, properly, scanning his face for some sign of what he is thinking—some judgment, some hint of blame or guilt that I’m standing there, talking about leaving his people and mine, about abandoning our whole lives. About running away. But he only smiles at me, his fingers sliding from my cheek to twine around a floating lock of hair, making it spiral in midair.

We’re underground here — almost the whole colony is underground, safely shielded because radiation is not your friend. Every angle is calculated, every line efficient. I think my parents wish they could plan me just as carefully, no part of me without a purpose, no part of me wasted. Maximum return for their efforts.

We see them as they cannot, will not, see each other--we see his heart in the way he looks at her; we see her soul calling out for his every touch. It would be so easy if they could only see inside each other as we can. And yet, there is beauty in the way they find each other: slowly, in a fragile dance of sidelong glances and accidental touches. To see them come together, souls binding without knowing each other as we do, without being certain of what the other's heart holds, is to learn something new... Faith.

What does it mean?” Flynn turns to gaze at me, eyes finally meeting mine. I find myself smiling because I know exactly what it means. “It means the clouds are clearing on Avon.

When faced with the choice of living one breath longer or cashing in right now, most folks will take the extra moment. That single extra breath. Even when your world stops spinning and gravity dies and the blood glitters in the air like a galaxy of warm red suns all around you. A lot can happen between breaths, after all.

When we allow ourselves to explore, we discover destinations that were never on our map.