Best 343 quotes of Ellen Hopkins on MyQuotes

A breeze blows up, touching my cheek like a little child's kiss. It flutters a piece of paper. "Trash, out there? Must belong to one of us." We move closer, and when I reached for it, I find...... a perfect paper airplane.

Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put the gun to your chest.

Afraid to Die Loveless Because I think if you die without knowing love in this life, that's how you'll spend eternity. Alone. Frozen.

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.

Alone everything changes. Some might call it distorted reality but it's exactly the place I need to be.

Alone, there is only the person inside. I've grown to like her better than the stuck-up husk of me. Alone, there is no perfect daughter, no gifted high school junior, no Kristina Georgia Snow. There is only Bree." (Ellen Hopkins)

Always before, I just said no, left it solidly there. I waver now. I want to share everything with him. Want to know what he knows, feel what he feels, share the same space he's in.

Am I more afraid Of taking a chance and learning I'm somebody I don't know, or of risking new territory, only to find I'm the same old me? There is comfort in the tried and true. Breaking ground might uncover a sinkhole, one impossible to climb out of. And setting sail in uncharted waters might mean capsizing into a sea monster's jaws. Easier to turn my back on these things than to try tjem and fail. And yet, a whisper insists I need to know if they are or aren't integral to me. Status quo is a swamp. And stagnation is slow death.

And almost instantly, Daddy made everything seem just fine. Even when it wasn't.

And at some point I would like to talk my publisher into doing an anthology of my poetry alongside some teen readers poetry. It would be fun, and really wonderful to get their stuff out there.

And how can it be he's so in love with me? To grow up without love, and still have so much inside?

And if candor strikes to forcefully, step back, draw careful breath, and consider the angle your words must take before you open your mouth, let them leak out. Because once you tilt the truth, it becomes a lie.

And now life has become the future. Every moment of your life is lived for the future-you go to high school so you can go to college so you can get a good job so you can get nice house.

And the thought of that makes me want to open a vein, experience pain, know I'm alive, despite this living death.

And this is a kiss like none before, a kiss that could overcome the dark of deep space night. It's a falling star, flame, ice. It's pure as water from a snow-fed mountain spring. This is what you dream a kiss to be. To have a kiss just like this each and every day! How satisfying life would be.

Anger is a valid emotion. It's only bad when it takes control and makes you do things you don't want to do.

Anger requires energy, something I don't dare waste on what cannot be altered.

....a perfect paper airplane.

As I thought about that, I had to wonder: What will we know better about tomorrow? Who cares? Hindsight is useless.

Ask me, it's a sin to pervert faith with religion. Despite every church, mosque, & synagogue in it, this is not the world any God worth his salt would have created.

As the old saying goes, "sometimes loving someone means letting them go.

At Last It's a perfect winter day. No wind. No Arctic freeze. Cloudless azure sky. A day to fly. Snow drapes the mountain like ermine, fabulous feather- light powder coaxing me to flee the confines of my room, brave the mostly plowed road up to the closest ski resort. To run from the cloying silence connected Mom and Dad, into encompassing stillness far away from city dirt and noise Far above suburban gridlock. Far beyond the grasp of home.

Authors have to write for their characters, for who they are, that's the strength of books. Don't worry about censors. Just write the story you need to tell and the rewards will come.

A whole big, giant world full of men. Men with blue eyes. Brown eyes. Green eyes. And indescribable shades in between. Tall men. Short men. Skinny men. Built men. And all combinations thereof. Nice men (so I've heard, but never really seen). Mean men. Decent men, indecent. And who knows which is the best kind to have, to hold, to love? I'd say, with so many men in the world, it would pay to sample a few. Scratch that. More than a few. Lots and lots. And then a few more. And maybe, after years of research, you might find one worth not throwing back. But hey, the fun is in the fishing.

back turned, you don't have to look at what you've left behind. And the first person who turned their back on you can't watch you break down and cry.

Bad choices or good, if you never take chances, someone else will build your life for you.

BEAUTIFUL is stark, disquieting and, quite simply, riveting. Amy Reed is an author to keep on your radar.

Before you, I believed love was making love. Waiting only makes me love you more.

Being In Love Means hard questions. Will I? Won't I? Should I? Could I? Yes? No? You? Me? There is no me without you. Is there a you without me? And if were truly one. how will I breathe when circomstance pries us apart? You are my oxygen. my substance, the blood inside my veins. When we touch, you are my skin. hold all my joy inside of you. When you go, I wither.

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.

But death doesn't scare me. To know exactly when I might expect it, up close and in my face, would actually be a comfort. Because to tell the truth, most of the time dying seems pretty much like my only means of escape.

But Hey, Guess What Crazy means I'm not liable for my actions. So screw it, I'll go home, propped up on Prozac against distractions

But hey, I'm not exactly sold on the idea that love is, in fact, real. Will it find me one day, overtake me, infiltrate my life like sunlight snakes through the cold of morning? Can love thaw me? will it ever?

But I so want to walk that razor's edge, Take feeling to a whole new level.

But more importantly, you are a gift, to all who know you, whether or not they realize it. If they don't, they are blind. You have a special place in this world. All you hvae to do is find it.

But then, my entire life is bullshit. The best things in it have vanished, ghosts. Ghosts I'll admit I created.

Can’t promise I’ll stay. That would be lying. And I’m so, so tired of lies.

Certain of misfire, my heart threatens to stop.

Christmas is far and away my favorite holiday. I love everything about it, from the event that inspired it, hoping for a white one, to wrapping presents. But mostly I love having family and friends gathered, and sharing traditions.

Cleansed, chlorinated to the point of chemical peel, sore muscles relieved, I felt almost human again. Tiptoe to my room, up a darkened hall, past closed doors, I wondered if I'd ever feel completely human again.

Clear. Cold. Empty. Like how I feel right now. Love is strange. One minute you’re jungle fever. The next you’re Artic winter.

Commitment means losing yourself to gain something temporary. Nothing lasts. Not looks. Not love.

Communication Was never big in my house. We sat together over dinner, but the only sound you'd hear was crunching and chewing and the little ones asking for more, please. We lived, all boxed up in invisible containers. We hardly knew the people we called sister or father. Jackie and I were the exceptions to that rule.

Crank, You See isn't any ordinary monster. It's like a giant octopus, weaving its tentacles not just around you, but through you, squeezing not hard enough to kill you, but enough to keep you from reeling until you try to get away. Try, and you hunger for it grasping clutch, the way its tendrils prop you up, your need intensifying exponentially every minute you refuse to admit its being (p.469)

crawling up into daddy's lap when dad was still DADDY nodding my head against his chest soaking in the comfort of his heart LISTENING to the thump...thump somewhere beneath muscle and breastbone I remember his arms their sublime ENCIRCLING and the shawdow of his voice "I love you, little girl. Put away your bad dreams. Daddy's here" I put them away, Until Daddy became my nightmare that one that came HOME from work everyday and instead of picking me up, chased me far far away

Death Is only the easy way out if you are the one who dies.

Defiance rose up like vomit. I swung back and yelled, "Don't ever do that again!

Despite whoever created it, it's my world, & the only one I've got. Might as well make the best of it, right? Might as well have a little fun while I'm here. Or a lot of fun. Might be dead tomorrow.

Detailed descriptions, abstract ambitions, relevant observations, your's and mine.

Disappointment Can do a couple things. It can drop you into a giant sucking sinkhole of depression, a place you have to fight to climb out of. Or it can trigger an epic mania to overcome the odds and transform failure into success. Say you swing as high as the chains will take you because you seek the thrill of flight, and on the up- kick, you lose your seat. Injury is likely. But if you worry about falling down, and never chance "up," the sky will remain forever out of reach.