Best 354 quotes in «high school quotes» category

One would think, however, that sharing a name might offer a thin string of connection. It was always a thrill to meet someone who had the same name as you, and unlike a lot of things, this was a thrill that never quite faded.

Oooohhhh, you’re one of those kids,” Whitney said, suddenly cracking up. “What in the hell is so damn funny? One of what kids?” “You had a horrible high school experience, didn’t you?” “High school is where demons go to eat little children.” “Carter!” She erupted into body-shaking laughter, rolling from left to right. “Oh my God, you are too much. This isn’t high school anymore!” “Um, hello, have you seen the movie Carrie?

On time for us was thirty minutes before actually started, because the half hour before the first bell was the highlight of our social calendars: standing outside the side door that led into the band room and just talking.

Our lives are forever changed because I was too much of a coward to really go for...to really..to really be who I wanted to be.

Parents don't really know how to help. Some aren't prepared for this new version of their high-achieving kid: doubting, sad, tired, confused- emotions they may have rarely dealt with in high school. And isn't college supposed to be even better than high school? When your child is more mature, self-sufficient, and otherwise flourishing just as she always has been, except now at an even higher level?

Perhaps the only thing worse than learning a secret is being kept from you is knowing you aren't the type to let it go.

Pete Berman sized up his competition like a predator lining up its prey. Gerry Williams dribbled once with his left hand, stopped on a dime, and nailed an open 15-footer. He had played on the Fellingwood Varsity Basketball Team since his freshman year, and was now a 16 year-old boy in a man's body. Pete sat on a board of the old splinter-ridden, wooden stands fixed on Gerry, but he was unable to defend his turf. His team was losing badly again, and the waiting was pure agony.

Please, God, please, don't let me be normal! (high school yearbook)

Please your mother: just lie around upstairs and smoke some pot. Be a revolutionary.

Pretty much everyone hates high school. It’s a measure of your humanity, I suspect. If you enjoyed high school, you were probably a psychopath or a cheerleader. Or possibly both.

Really?' Shep scoffed and rolled his eyes. 'You can't be serious! Whitey, you come from the streets of North Philly, and you're scared of a bunch of backwoods butt-monkeys that thinks that an awesome Saturday night consists of drinking the cheapest beer they can steal from their daddy's huntin' coolers, tippin' some cows, stealin' a tracter, takin' it for a joy ride then leaving it on the 9th green of the golf course, and getting a knobber from one of the skankleaders. Seriously, Whitey, you have issues that I can't even begin to imagine.

See, the thing is, I had a little misunderstanding with Trent Gibson in Pre-Calculus earlier. I dropped my textbook on his face—accidentally, while we were discussing some…equations—and he thought I was trying to brain him. So of course, he narked to Shoemaker, and apparently accidents are grounds for disciplinary action these days.

Several of the girls at the party had had sex, something which sounded appealing but only if it could happen with blindfolds in a time warp plus amnesia

See men for miles around give nature what she needs, rivers and rivers and rivers of it. You exhale with perfect happiness. Nature turned you down in high school. Now you can come in her eye.

She had lived in eight different countries growing up and had visited dozens of others. To most people, this sounded cool, and in some ways, Ayers knows, it was cool, or parts of it were. But since humans are inclined to want what they don't have, she longed to live in America, preferably the solid, unchanging, undramatic Midwest, and attend a real high school, the kind shown in movies, complete with a football team, cheerleaders, pep rallies, chemistry labs, summer reading lists, hall passes, proms, detentions, assemblies, fund-raisers, lockers, Spanish clubs, marching bands, and the dismissal bell.

She didn’t see me because of the reflection on the store windows, and she wouldn’t know me in this car anyway. In fact, she probably wouldn’t know me with shaggy hair and the beginnings of a beard. So I sat for a minute, watching her dusting bookshelves, either talking to herself or singing. Her feather duster had become a prop in whatever scene she had going. She looked heart-stoppingly, breathtakingly beautiful, my Meg.

She looked into the eyes of many of them as they passed away, like some sort of angel of death. Some were frightened, some relieved, most just confused. She served as the arbiter of their passage, an earthly Charon. Or perhaps a Valkyrie, carrying fallen heroes to Valhalla. But she’d seen no heroes, no one worthy of Valhalla.

She’s fulfilled her obligation, assuaged her conscience by finding me in the hallway and giving me the chance to freak out, and I’ve played my role too, by remaining calm, pretending to be okay, and therefore giving her permission to cross me off her things-to-do list. Now she can move on, and I can too. Once you understand how adults are controlled by the system, manipulating them is elementary.

Silence has always been my default mode—my best defense against the rest of the world.

Sometimes, things just happen. Things that will change everything. Things that change you.

Since the teachers weren't picking, I ended up with a boy with bad body odour. 'You should wear deodorant,' I said to him. 'And you should shut your trap,' he replied.

So in order to understand everything that happened, you have to start from the premise that high school sucks. Do you accept that premise? Of course you do. It is a universally acknowledged truth that high school sucks. In fact, high school is the where we are first introduced to the basic existential question of life: How is it possible to exist in a place that sucks so bad?

Some secrets are never supposed to be discovered. But if you're real lucky, when you're least expecting it, the most incriminating secrets will show themselves.

So strange that David Drucker of all people was the only one who said the exact right thing: Your dad shouldn't have died. That's really unfair.

Sophomore Lucy Karate took a deep breath and concentrated her moss green eyes on the black squiggles in front of her. The sheet music on the page was exactly the same it had been for the past ten months. The difference wasn’t the music; it was the day. This was the day before auditions – her last opportunity to practice before her fate for the next school year was ultimately decided.

So what if you hurt him? He'll hurt you. You'll hurt each other. That's what love is about, right? You can't know what'll happen till you actually try it. Don't try to make excuses like you're protecting him.

Somewhere along the way of my illustrious high school career I traded my humanity for a prison of popularity.

The Colonel ran ahead of me, gleeful at his ejection, and I jogged after him, trailing in his wake. I wanted to be one of those people who have streaks to maintain, who scorch the ground with their intensity. But for now, at least I knew such people,and they needed me, just like comets need tails.

Stuck in high school for the rest of my natural life. Talk about hell.

Thanet is having a moment,” I said, leaning forward so Quinn could see him. “What’s wrong, man?” Quinn said. “Were you not aware high school dances suck? That they always have sucked and they will continue sucking as long as the world turns?

The angel of death can hardly have friends. And the prom, what about Danny? He can hardly have a Valkyrie for his date.

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!

Swish,” the net sounded like the blast of a cannon, signaling the game was tied at 64. Dave then saw the second shot in his mind before even going into his pre-shot routine. The ball tickled the front rim, brushed against the backboard, and then dropped through the net. The home crowd erupted as Dave backpedaled toward the opposing rim. Central High attempted a last-second shot that fell short into Breslin's hands. The fans rushed onto the floor as the number two train came roaring into the station, bringing Dave back from his glorious past back into the oppressive heat of the present.

Teammates...were fine things. Piling onto the bus before the game, edgy with shared nerves, egging one another on with the genial, meaningless phrase C'mon, you guys!, collapsing back into the same seats for the ride home—the sense of striving in accord had been a sweet part of high school. Possibly the sweetest. But the camaraderie had not survived graduation, or even the off-seasons. Her teammates, passing in the school corridors in winter or spring, were downshifted to nodding acquaintances who had once been close, that past connection floating off like cotton candy on the tongue.

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

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

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.

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 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.

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

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.

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