Best 86 quotes in «the fault in our stars quotes» category

¡Hoy no matarás a mi novia, terrorista internacional de dudosa nacionalidad!

I believe the universe wants to be noticed. I think the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed. And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it - or my observation of it - is temporary?

I cant believe I have a crush on a girl with such cliché wishes.

I even tried to tell myself to live my best life today.

I'll find a way to hang around and annoy you for a long time.

I felt bashful, like I had when I'd first told him of An Imperial Affliction. "Um, okay. Okay. 'Let us go, trough certain half-deserted streets,/ The muttering retreats/ Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels/ and sawdust restaurants with oyster shells:/ Streets that follow like a tedious argument/ Of insidious intent/ To lead you to an overwhelming question../Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"/ Let us go and make our visit" "I'm in love with you," he said quietly. "Augustus," I said. "I am, " he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you." "Augustus," I said again, not knowing what else to say. It felt like everything was rising up in me, like I was drowning in this wierdly painful joy, but I couldn't say it back. I couldn't say it back. I just looked at him and let him look at me until he nodded, lips pursed, and turned away, placing the side of his head against the window.

I fell in love like you would fall asleep: slowly and then all at once.

I imagined the Augustus Waters analysis of that comment: If I am playing basketball in heaven, does that imply a physical location of a heaven containing physical basketballs? Who makes the basketballs in question? Are there less fortunate souls in heaven who work in a celestial basketball factory so that I can play? Or did an omnipotent God create the basketballs out of the vacuum of space? Is this heaven in some kind of unobservable universe where the laws of physics don't apply, and if so, why in the hell would I be playing basketball when I could be flying or reading or looking at beautiful people or something else I actually enjoy? It's almost as if the way you imagine my dead self says more about you than either the person I was or whatever I am now.

It´s a metaphor: you see, you put the killing thing right between your teeth,you just don't give it the power to do it's killing.

It’s total bullshit,” he said. “The whole thing. Eighty percent survival rate and he’s in the twenty percent? Bullshit. He was such a bright kid. It’s bullshit. I hate it. But it was sure a privilege to love him, huh?” I nodded into his shirt. “Gives you an idea how I feel about you,” he said. My old man. He always knew just what to say.

I enjoy looking at beautiful people, and I decided a while ago not to deny myself the simpler pleasures of existence.

I want to minimize the deaths I am responsible for.

I want to see you again tonight, but I'm willing to wait all night and much of tomorrow - Augustus Waters

Love"I'm in love with you," he said quietly. "Augustus,"I said. "I am," he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm in love with you, and I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I am in love with you." "Augustus," I said again, not knowing what else to say. It felt like everything was rising up in me, like I was drowning in this weirdly painful joy, but I couldn't say it back. I couldn't say anything back. I just looked at him and let him look at me until he nodded, lips pursed, and turned away, placing the side of his head against the window.

I really thought she was going to die before I could tell her that I was going to die, too.

iubirea mea, nu-ți pot spune cât de recunoscătoare sunt pentru mica noastră infinitate. N-aș schimba-o pentru nimic în lume. Tu mi-ai oferit o veșnicie în interiorul zilelor numărate și pentru asta îți sunt recunoscătoare.

Ma'am,' Augustus said, nodding toward her, 'your daughter's car has just been deservedly egged by a blind man. Please close the door and go back inside or we'll be forced to call the police.' After wavering for a moment, Monica's mom closed the door and disappeared.

Mi libro favorito, con diferencia, era Un dolor imperial, pero no me gustaba decirlo. Algunas veces lees un libro, sientes un extraño afán evangelizador y estás convencido de que este desastroso mundo no se recuperará hasta que todos los seres humanos lo lean. Y luego están los libros como Un dolor imperial, de los que no puedes hablar con nadie, libros tan especiales, escasos y tuyos que revelar el cariño que les tienes parece una traición.

Mom took me off the BiPAP, I tethered myself to a portable tank, and stumbled into my bathroom to brush my teeth. Appraising myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, I kept thinking there were two kinds of adults: There were Peter Van Houtens - miserable creatures who scoured the earth in search of something to hurt. And then there were people like my parents, who walked around zombically, doing whatever they had to do to keep walking around. Neither of these futures struck me as particularly desirable. It seemed to me that I had already seen everything pure and good in the world, and I was beginning to suspect that even if death didn't get in the way, the kind of love Augustus and I share could never last. So dawn goes down to day, the poet wrote. Nothing gold can stay.

My cancer is me. The tumors are made of me. They’re made of me as surely as my brain and my heart are made of me. It is a civil war with a predetermined winner

No matter how hard you kick, no matter how high you get, you can't go all the way round.

No puedes elegir si van hacerte daño en este mundo, pero sí eliges quién te lo hace.

No puedes escoger si serás lastimado en este mundo, pero si puedes decidir quién te lastima

No puedo hablar de nuestra historia de amor, así que hablare de matemáticas.

Pero diré esto: Cuando los científicos del futuro aparezcan en mi casa con ojos robot y me digan que los pruebe, yo les diré a los científicos que se larguen, porque no quiero ver un mundo sin él" —The Fault in Our Stars - John Green.

People always get used to beauty, though. I haven’t gotten used to you just yet

Pero diré esto: Cuando los científicos del futuro aparezcan en mi casa con ojos robot y me digan que los pruebe, yo les diré a los científicos que se larguen, porque no quiero ver un mundo sin él

Seriously, don't even get me started on my hot bod. You don't want to see me naked, Dave. seeing me naked actually took Hazel Grace's breath away

¿Qué más? Ella es tan hermosa. No te cansas de verla. Nunca te preocupas si es más inteligente que tú: sabes que lo es. Es graciosa sin querer serlo. La amo. Soy tan afortunado de amarla

Quiero que sepas que, cuando este muerta, suspirare desde el cielo cada vez que pidas a alguien que comparta sus sentimientos.

Sería un honor tener el corazón roto por ti, Hazel Grace.

Seriously do not get me started on my hot bod. You don't want to see me naked, Dave. Seeing me naked actually took Hazel Grace's breath away," he said, nodding towards the oxygen tank.

Some infinites are longer than other infinites

Sin dolor ¿Como conoceríamos el placer?

Some infinities are bigger than other infinities." -John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

some people don't understand the promises they're making, when they make them.

Omnia Cellula e Cellula

Sometimes people don’t understand the promises they’re making when they make them,” I said. Isaac shot me a look. “Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That’s what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway. Don’t you believe in true love?

Still perfect,” he said. “Read to me.” “This isn’t really a poem to read aloud when you are sitting next to your sleeping mother. It has, like, sodomy and angel dust in it,” I said. “You just named two of my favorite pastimes,” he said. “Okay, read me something else then?” “Um,” I said. “I don’t have anything else?” “That’s too bad. I am so in the mood for poetry. Do you have anything memorized?” “‘Let us go then, you and I,’” I started nervously, “‘When the evening is spread out against the sky / Like a patient etherized upon a table.’” “Slower,” he said. I felt bashful, like I had when I’d first told him of An Imperial Affliction. “Um, okay. Okay. ‘Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, / The muttering retreats / Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels / And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: / Streets that follow like a tedious argument / Of insidious intent / To lead you to an overwhelming question . . . / Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” / Let us go and make our visit.’” “I’m in love with you,” he said quietly. “Augustus,” I said. “I am,” he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.” “Augustus,” I said again, not knowing what else to say. It felt like everything was rising up in me, like I was drowning in this weirdly painful joy, but I couldn’t say it back. I

Sure, anyone can name fourteen dead people. But we're disorganized mourners, so a lot of people end up remembering Shakespeare, and no one ends up remembering the person he wrote Sonnet Fifty-five about.

That's the think about pain. It demands to be felt.

The problem, of course, is that there's no way of knowing that your last good day is your Last Good Day. At the time, it's just another good day.

there are books which you can't tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal.

There will come a time,'' I said, ''when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. [...]

the smell of canals and cigarette smoke, all the people sitting outside the cafés drinking beer, saying their r's and g's in a way I'd never learn. I missed the future. Obviously I knew even before this recurrence that I'd never grow old with Augustus Waters. But thinking about Lidewij and her boyfriend, I felt robbed. I would probably never again see the ocean from thirty thousand feet above, so far up you can't make out the waves or any boats, so that the ocean is a great and endless monolith. I could imagine it. I could remember it. But I couldn't see it again, and it occurred to me that the voracious ambition of humans is never sated by dreams coming true, because there is always the thought that everything might be done better and again. That is probably true even if you live to be ninety.

the world wasn't made for us, we were made for the world

Time's a slut, she screws with everyone.

This is it. I can't even not smoke anymore

what we want is to be noticed by the universe, to have the universe give a shit what happens to us- not the collective idea of sentient life but each of us as individuals.

Who am I to say that these things might not be forever? Who is Peter Van Houten to assert as fact the conjecture that our labor is temporary? All I know of heaven and all I know of death is in this park; an elegant universe in ceaseless motion, teeming with ruined ruins and screaming children.