Best 354 quotes in «high school quotes» category

The corners of Bree’s mouth were tilted up into a huge grin. It was her I’ve just seen a super duper hot guy grin. Hot?” Raine asked, already knowing the answer. Bree nodded. “Hell to the yeah!” Like, Alex Pettyfer hot?” Dude, he puts Alex Pettyfer to shame!

The families of graduating seniors emptied out of cars, sheepish in uncommon splendor, like milling clans at the origin of a parade. There is something spent about the families of teenagers; possibly it's the look of exhausted loyalties. Perhaps it's only right that we grow overbig in someone else's space. Perhaps we need to tire and differentiate, leave and adapt.

The first thing I needed, possibly the only thing, was to kiss her and I did, for as long as I could. I let us both breathe for a minute, and I perched her on a counter so I could touch the face I’d missed so much. I poured every bit of frustration, anger, sadness, and worry into that kiss. Meg understood and received it all, pushing her fingers into my hair and giggling against my lips. I didn’t care that anybody passing by could be watching us through the window, or that I could fall right there and sleep for a week.

The groans did not frighten her. As she watched, her heart thudded slow and steady; she felt something dark and unnamed shift deep within herself. That inner shifting and what she'd drawn on the wall seemed to go together; Maddy could feel the formlessness inside herself reaching out toward the wall, as if wanting to connect. She thought of Rhonda Hinkle standing before the class and proclaiming "I can!" She thought of David, his head down, saying, "Just an average, ordinary kid. A watcher and a knower." Well, that was what she was too - an average, ordinary kid now staring at some kind of knowing... a knowing that was undefined, something inside herself that wanted out. I can, Maddy thought.

The ideas of beawolf ain’t gonna go nowhere.” <—My first complete sentence to an MLA style paper about Beowulf. My English teachers in high school changed and edited my trajectory with my writing and with . . . my life. Writing is a process like life. We’re all in a process of becoming. Remember that. Make mistakes and keep your voice. And, take the guidance along the way.

The idea that it doesn't matter what over people think about you gets thrown around a lot in high school, and in many instances it's true. But I do care what certain people think of me.

the instant she made a point of telling me I was just as good as them, I saw that the whole question was open to debate and she was cheering me on because I was on the losing team

The only rule is that you can't cross this line. If the ball hits you, you're out. If someone catches a ball you throw, you're out. We'll keep playing until there are five of you left,” Dinkleman explained. I thought to myself, “What the fuck? That was like, four rules, not one.

The ones who stay unnoticed often see the most. They live out other people's lives, since their own are so unremarkable...

The only sentence that begins with 'I' that's true of me is I'm full of shit.

The only way, I thought to myself, that this could get any weirder would be if it turns out he has that dead body's head on ice where in the basement, some ready for transplantation onto Cindy Crawford's body as soon as it becomes available.

They'll try to make you forget who you are or try to make you ashamed. But you mustn't forget and you mustn't be ashamed.

The piercing fanfare of the brass against the brutal boom and rattle of the drums surged through the air. At the head of the Ferris band marched the drum majorette. A crimson and white shako crowned her long dark hair which flew out behind her and across her radiant face flushed with excitement. Her blue eyes flashed and her smile registered triumph at having been chosen.

There is no force in high school more powerful than one person's blunt disagreement.

THERE WAS ALWAYS a boy in your life that common sense and the prayers of parents told you to stay away from: fast talker, fast car, and fast hands. He was the boy your father kept a loaded shotgun by the door for and met on the front porch if he ever thought about venturing onto his property…let alone the threshold. He was the tall, dark, mysteriously handsome, and uncharacter-istically quiet one that made you wonder what was going on in his head, and that little voice in your head said it wasn’t always so honorable. He was the boy you broke all of the rules over because bad-boys equaled excitement and the rebel in you liked the ride.

The Senior Ball was upon us and I didn’t have a date. Having spent my high school years attending this school didn’t help. Perhaps I should have invited Thelma. Now, that would have been something! Looking back I wonder what would have happened if I had? Everyone at the school knew Thelma, and Ridell High, being a snobbish school in a snobbish town, would certainly have ostracized the two of us. Besides, Thelma was just a little too old for me and I was just too chicken to bring the town’s hottest girl to the schools biggest function.

The sudden, painful flare of envy caught me by surprise. I was a loner, my last few years in school. I could have done with a friend like that.

The truth doesn't get you very far on the streets, or in a group home, or even in high school. That's probably why the idea of Liars, Inc. appealed to me. Everybody lies. You might as well get paid for it.

...There's a difference between desire and desperation. You should never want a guy more than he wants you.

The rest of us do “high school theater.” Lou does “theater.

There was some violence a year ago. An important kid got shot during an attempted kidnapping while on spring break in Mexico. The Fortune 500 went security crazy. Now rich kids like Jack need a commando team to take a dump.

These kids aren't like us; they'll never be us. They're more like...young Lex Luthors. They've never known a world without the internet. Email. Text messaging. Social media. Likes and views are king, bullying dickheads are inescapable, and genuine social interaction can be almost completely avoided. It makes them really fucking smart technologically and really fucking stupid emotionally.

This is followed by laughter because we're in high school, which means we're predictable and almost everything is funny, especially if it's someone else's public humiliation.

This may sound funny but somewhere in the back of my mind I thought the world would stop for my first day of JH. The day proved me wrong and I've grown to realize that nothing will be quite as I dreamed them up.

This is why I can't talk to parents. They think you can get friends in high school the way you get chips from a vending machine. Put in a little niceness, and some kid pops out ready to double-check your homework and paint your nails at a slumber party. Niceness is not a valid currency in high school.

This is how he always imagined- a dangerous place full of mystery and violent kids.

This just didn’t happen to girls like me. This just didn’t happen to anyone.

Those aren't girls. They're vultures.

This whole, crazy fucking business can be reduced to one little word, one word explains it all. I'm going to give you the benefit of my experience and share that word with you, buck. It's revenge.... Them studio execs, agents, producers, they're all sweaty, unpopular, bitter little fucks, and now it's their turn. They get to make all of us golden boys and girls jump through hoops. They decide who's popular and who isn't, who's pretty and who isn't, who gets their phone calls returned and who doesn't. They make us grovel, submit, suck up to them. They're getting back at us, man. It means more to them than the money, the fame, the glamor, having power over guys like me.... It's what they live for.

We are in a boy recession," Eugene repeats. "There's been a sudden, drastic decrease in the male population at this school. And I'm gonna take advantage of it.

To look at my world as my only plane of existence was so limiting, and a little depressing. I needed the boundless worlds I found in good fiction.

To the untrained eye, Ben had nothing, at least by the bizarre rules that governed high school. But really, Ben was one of the few who wasn't pretending, one of the few who was free.

We all say and do things we regret, but it’s never to late to change, apologize and become a better person

Wait,” Quinn said. “There’s one more thing.” I turned around and raised an eyebrow. His eyes were wary and he lacked his usual confidence. “Go to the Winter Dance with me.

What I know about you, Henry,” he said. “Is that you, as big as you are, know how to walk gently on this earth.

We could love and not be suckers. We could dream and not be losers. It was such a beautiful time. Everything was possible because we didn't know anything yet.

We don’t talk on the ride home. We don’t have to. I feel warm and giddy and like I have a secret that I want to keep all to myself. David Drucker, who is so many different people all at once: the guy who always sits alone, the guy who talked quantum physics even in my dad’s dental chair, the guy who held my hand in the snow. I kissed David Drucker, the guy I most like to talk to, and it was perfect.

We had a class called Theory of Knowledge, taught by a Catholic family man we later found out was strongly attracted to little boys… so I guess the point of the class was you don’t know shit. The past few years, I found out that there’s Neurogenesis, which means we *do* make new brain cells. And I found out about Epigenetics, which basically means Lamarck was more right than Darwin… so that does away with a lot of shit I still remember from science classes from not too long ago. I read books that show the Jews did 911 (not Osama) and a guy named McPherson keeps telling us that we’re all gonna die in a few years anyway. Make each day count…

we match,” I say, and as soon as the words are out I already know that tomorrow will come and I will remember this moment and wince. We match?? And so, even through this drunken haze, I feel relief when he doesn’t laugh at me. Instead he squeezes me a little tighter, brings me a tiny bit closer so my edges are against his edges, and it’s all warm. Our bodies fit. I secretly sniff him, and get rewarded with his fresh lemony scent

We had grown into one another somewhere along the way. We were officially a team.

We were supposed to be an English literature class, but Miss Nesbitt used literature to teach real life. She said she didn't have time to teach us like a regular English teacher--we were too far behind. Instead, she taught us the world through literature.

You and I have been friends long enough to know how to treat each other . . . I'm leaving for college. I think I've outgrown the rules.

Why can't we repeat 8th grace five times and call that a high school education?

When Grant Blue reaches me, he bends his head down close enough that I can smell the soap and promise on his skin. Clean living and popularity—It’s quite the aftershave, let me tell you. If I’m being honest, the fact that he even has to bend to talk to me is making me want to swoon a little. ...But just a little.

When I left high school with my diploma, it felt like I was holding a key that would unlock the door to a better world. Every teacher I passed on my way down to the parking lot—the ones who suspended me for questioning them both earnestly and in jest, suspended me for using a contumacious hip-shake as my hallway gait, suspended me for me being me—the ones who would roll their eyes if my behavior was, on the whole, unpatriotic, unjustified, and immature—well, on the way down that long black declivity, their faces seemed so contorted as if lurking shadows had vice grips locked on their kidneys, wrenching it every time a teacher didn't want to remain upright and respectful. Yes, they didn’t want to me to succeed either! I pledge allegiance to the flag that united every authority in that indefensible school looked at me, even treated me, as if I was a terrorist, or at the very least, unpatriotic. But God—didn’t the red blood, white skin, and blue balls that flagged my physical existence suffice for me to have a little liberty and justice?

When my pals in high school were starting to drink, it always looked unappealing to me. I would be at a big party and see one of the popular girls or football players completely wasted and puking and acting a fool, and think to myself, There’s nothing cool about that. I never wanted to be that out of control.

Will you think about the kissing?” he asks, and I laugh again and mimic his shrug. If only he knew how much I think about the kissing. “Will you reconsider hand-holding?” he asks, instead of answering, I move my arm so it’s next to his, so we are lined up, seam to seam. He reaches out his pinky finger and links it around mine and a warm, delicious chill makes its way up my arm. We stay that way for a minute, in a pinky swear, which feels like the smallest of promises. And then I grab his whole hand and link his fingers in mine. A slightly bigger promise. Or maybe a demand: Please be part of my tribe. It’s pretty simple, really. For once, things are not complicated. Right now, right here, it’s just us, together, like this. Palm to palm. The most honest of gestures. One of the ways through. Maybe the best one.

Your best kicks ass and takes names,” Jack says, and he punches my shoulder again.

You can wait as long as you like, pretty one, it won't make any difference. He will never see you as anything more than some victim he has to protect. Why he thinks it his duty to protect you from the inevitable, I do not know... unless he knows something we do not...

YOU KNOW HOW WHEN you’re a senior in high school, and you officially know absolutely everything about everything and no one can tell you different, but on the other hand, at the same time, you’re dumber than a poorly translated instruction manual for a spoon?