Best 354 quotes in «high school quotes» category

Everyone is born a freak," notes Hayley. "Every newborn baby, wet and hungry and screaming, is a fresh-hatched freak who wants to have a good time and make the world a better place. . . . Most teenagers wind up in high school. And high school is where the zombification process becomes deadly.

Famous at high school is like being employee of the month at the sanitation department.

FAVORITE GIRL IN THE WORLD. STILL MY FRIEND? Please meet me on the bleachers after school. Please. And I’m sorry. Sorrier than any person has ever been sorry in the history of sorry people. I’ll put in one last please for good luck. Sorry. Again.

God damn, I wish I could fast-forward time and be old and wrinkly. How awesome would that be? No more worrying about getting ogled by douche bags like Trent Gibson, or getting all hormonal and bothered against my will over hotties like Grant Blue, who wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole.

For those of you who may be homeschooled: high school is that four-year asylum where they put teenagers because we have no idea what else to do with them.

From Summer's End What we have is enough. It's more than we consciously realized.

Good, stupid high school boys aren't worth It" She throws an arm over my shoulder. "They're trained to like a certain type of girl, with highlights and pretty nails- the kind who are good at remembering to put on lotion every morning after they shower." She smiles like she's got a dirty secret. "And let's face it..... sluts.

Great. Darcy is the ruler of our school. Prety soon, Julius is going to be like Singapore - you'll get a $500 fine for chewing gum or making out in the hallways.

Grayson noticed me next to the lockers. He pointed at me then held his arms out magnanimously. “You’re welcome, new girl,” he said. “I just saved you from having to find a nice way to say no to the leg dragger.

He exhaled in disgust. “High school is boredom punctuated by humiliation.

He closed the locker quickly so no one would see the damage. For some reason, he felt ashamed.

He doesn’t want to step out of the present, this present. Because once he does, there will be college applications and college acceptances (just one will do) and the last of everything (last class, last party, last night, last day, last goodbye), and then the world will change forever and he will go to college and eventually become an adult. That is not what he wants. He does not want those complications, that change. Not now.

He just wasn’t into flaunting his awesomeness, but sometimes a person’s awesomeness simply flaunts itself, even when you politely ask it not to.

He had never been to a party like this and it struck him as a little bizarre, like a feverish nightmare version of school. It was the exact same mass of people, but they had all shown up in the middle of the night, and now there were no teachers and everyone stood in the hallways talking as loudly as possible, and there were no classes except lunch, or else the classes were all different and he hadn't ever studied for any of them.

Henry drew a shaky breath. “Do me a favor, Meg.” “Anything,” I whispered. “Don’t fall for Quinn O’Neill. If you’re going to do this thing with him…go to this dance, don’t fall for him.” “Never,” I said. “I promise.” “Because I’m all filled up on sad right now.” He sniffed again and I could tell he was more in control. “And you can’t ask me to sit by and watch you get all caught up in this guy. I can’t handle that—thinking he swept you off your feet because he bathed in body spray and dressed up.” His voice sounded rough. “I know you think I’m being funny right now, but I’m completely serious. Don’t make me watch that happen.” “You know my heart,” I said. “It’s yours.

He tells me that high school is no utopia, but I'm not convinced. What else would you call a place that exists solely to teach you about the world? What do you call a place with friends and teachers and libraries and book club and math club and debate club and any other kind of club and after-school activities and endless possibilities?

Her problem is with pretty,” Tennyson said. "She thinks I’ll need all these dresses in college. Like I would ever in a billion years pledge a sorority. I’ll pack a few of these to be ironic, though. I can wear them to, like, truck stops at night with mascara running down my cheeks and stuff.

He smiles.  It’s a blinding, white-toothed smile.  A push-me-over-the-edge-of-the-love-cliff smile.  And before I can say a word in protest, he’s got my hand and is dragging me through the carnival. Note to self: Do not stare directly at his smile. It holds special powers. Also: Do not kiss him. His mouth is definitely the source of his power.

Hey, I wish we hung out more in high school. Why didn’t we?” “I was hiding,” Jake said thoughtfully. “Me too.” “You?” “In my own way.” Hearing that made Jake wonder if they’d all been in hiding, if he hadn’t been the only one who’d felt alone for so much of high school.”“Hey, I wish we hung out more in high school. Why didn’t we?” “I was hiding,” Jake said thoughtfully. “Me too.” “You?” “In my own way.” Hearing that made Jake wonder if they’d all been in hiding, if he hadn’t been the only one who’d felt alone for so much of high school.” Excerpt From: Carolyn Mackler. “Infinite in Between.” iBooks.

Hey, I wish we hung out more in high school. Why didn’t we?” “I was hiding,” Jake said thoughtfully. “Me too.” “You?” “In my own way.” Hearing that made Jake wonder if they’d all been in hiding, if he hadn’t been the only one who’d felt alone for so much of high school.

High school and college students like to torture their bodies. They pull countless all-nighters, continually skip breakfast, eat nothing but ramen noodles for dinner, find creative new ways to guzzle alcohol, transform into couch potatoes, and gain 15 pounds at the freshman dinner buffet. At least, that's the stereotype.

High school isn't a very important place. When you're going you think it's a big deal, but when it's over nobody really thinks it was great unless they're beefed up.

High school will probably be better. I mean, some kids will still be jerks, but it's not so bad if you have at least one good friend. Someone who gets you.

High school is neither a democracy nor a dictatorship - nor, contrary to popular belief, an anarchic state. High school is a divine-right monarchy.

High school is like purgatory. It's a cesspool of hormones and emotion. And everyone is looking for a life raft.

High school is worse than having to swim through multiple prahana filled lakes- and that's before the truckload of homework.

High school is just like the night sky. It's beautiful. Some moments, you're just in awe of it. But it's dark and endless, which can be scary, too. When the stars fall away, what's left?... The sun... Darkness goes away, but the sun shows up and you start over again. So let high school happen, and eventually, you light up the rest of your life. Burn as bright as you want. The wonderful thing about the sun is, it's always there. People don't have to see you to believe you'll be there.

Hold still, Meg, you’re dripping blood on my car seats.” I reached behind the passenger seat of Tennyson’s car looking for the white sheet she’d thrown in for mopping up bodily fluids. Quinn, sitting in the back seat, read my mind and handed it to me. “Thank you.” “No problem.” He leaned forward, pulling a corner of the sheet up to wipe off a small stream of blood on my neck. “You okay?

How come you got to start making the bed the minute your feet hit the floor? You need to lighten up, girl. Live a little!' Then she'd laugh, delighted with herself and at my inability to be angry with her.

I also remember defining myself by the people and the things that I hated rather than what I liked, thinking that it was cooler to be jaded than to be careful with other people.

I always knew the teachers were out to get me.

I also have a list of favorite noises. It has one item on it: Kit's laugh.

I am a guy," I say. "And I hate boys," she says. "But a guy's different," I say. "Maybe a little," she says.

I am face blind, but my heart can see .... (you).

I couldn’t stop crying because it was so intimate, in that way I always thought being physical with him would feel. If someone had walked in they might have thought Henry was barely touching me. I knew the truth of it. He was laying me open and bare to him and to God. There wasn’t a more intimate act. I would never recover from this.

I am kissing David Drucker. I am kissing David Drucker. I am kissing David Drucker. I Was wrong. I had assumed this would be his first kiss, that it would be fumbling and a bit messy but still fun. No way. Can’t be. This guy knows exactly what he’s doing. How to cradle the back of my head with his hands. How to move in soft and slow, and then pick up the pace, and then slow down again. How to brush my cheeks with even smaller kisses, how to work his way down my jaw, and to soften the worry spot in the center of my brow. How to pause and look into my eyes, really look, so tenderly I feel it all the way down in my stomach. He even traces the small zigzag scar on my eyebrow with his fingertips, like it’s something beautiful. I could kiss him forever. I’m going to kiss him forever.

I could kiss that girl. And ya know what? I will kiss that girl. As soon as I get back to school, I'm gonna grab her, and I'm gonna kiss her.

I could feel his hand on my waist, his arms around me, feel the rise and fall of his chest next to mine as I held my breath, and wished the sun would drop out of the sky.

I’d felt this before, when my granddad was in the hospital before he died. We all camped out in the waiting room, eating our meals together, most of us sleeping in the chairs every night. Family from far-flung places would arrive at odd hours and we’d all stand and stretch, hug, get reacquainted, and pass the babies around. A faint, pale stream of beauty and joy flowed through the heavy sludge of fear and grief. It was kind of like those puddles of oil you see in parking lots that look ugly until the sun hits them and you see rainbows pulling together in the middle of the mess. And wasn’t that just how life usually felt—a confusing swirl of ugly and rainbow?

I didn’t look at Thanet. I couldn’t because he would see the hurt on my face. “He loves you,” Thanet said. “He’s hurting and it’s not just the Quinn thing. It’s being away from you and wondering if you’re hurting, too. Or if you’re having too much fun to hurt. What he really needed was to laugh, though. So we laughed…until he cried.” That undid me. I looked at Thanet with so many questions on my lips.

I didn't give it much thought back then. I just wanted to get all the words straight and collect my A.

I’d known cruelty in a school—cruelty that would keep these amateurs up all night. But this kind of scene—crowds batting around a person because they thought he was weak—happened to be my personal trigger.

I dropped my bag to the floor and the sound echoed throughout the house. No one shouted, "who's home?" or "Cassie? Is that you?". Instead the house gobbled up the sound as if it didn't know when the next taste of noise would come. Then again, the house hadn't experienced Olivia yet.

I don't know if you have any idea what a high school in Paris is like in this day and age in the posh neighborhoods—but quite honestly, the slummy banlieues of Marseille have nothing on ours. In fact it may even be worse here, because where you have money, you have drugs—and not just a little bit and not just one kind.

I don't know what you're expecting, but ultimately, most people in high school have this obsession with the 'high schooler' you often seen in fiction, so they put on an act in an attempt to become that. And it just leaves you cold.

I’d stumbled upon the inner sanctuary of a woman who loved the world. Loved the faces of people she saw. Loved the way a hand looked when it was relaxed. Loved the way a woman looked when she touched her own face. The way a man looked when he opened himself to her. Loved the way wind changed a tree or a field or a child’s hair. The beauty of a neck meeting a shoulder. The softness of a smile that wasn’t forced.

If a fight looks like a lot of fun, you should be suspicious. 'If you ain't scared of standing up for what's right, you ain't standing up for much.

I'd studied Latin for five years now, which meant that I could, on rare occasions, actually translate something.

I jump on Lane’s back. He catches my legs around his sides, holding on tight, and I wrap my arms around his neck. Mmmmm. “You smell good.” My heart thrums inside my chest, purring like a kitten. The gang’s ahead of us. It’s safe to sneak a peck on the cheek. I brush my nose against his jaw line so I can inhale his cologne again. “That was so smooth. Where’d you get moves like that?” He snickers.

I found I could only glance at him for tiny moments and then I had to look away. He was perfect enough to hurt my feelings for a long time, and I wanted to let him.