Best 29 quotes in «the 5th wave quotes» category

Aliens are stupid. (Cassie in The 5th Wave, part one, chapter one, page one)

You’re the mayfly,' he murmurs. And then Evan Walker kisses me. Holding my hand across his chest, his other hand sliding across my neck, his touch feathery soft, sending a shiver that travels down my spine into my legs, which are having a hard time keeping me upright. I can feel his heart slamming against my palm and I can smell his breath and feel the stubble on his upper lip, a sandpapery contrast to the softness of his lips, and Evan is looking at me and I’m looking back at him.

Everything's going to be okay', because that's what I wanted him to say and it's what he wanted to say and that's what you do when the curtain is falling — you give the line that the audience wants to hear.

A moment comes in war when the last lines must be crossed. The line that separates what you hold a from what total war demands. If he couldn't cross that line, the battle was over, and he was lost.

Are pervs only pervs if you don't find them attractive?

Because if I am the last one, then I am humanity. And if this is humanity's last war, then I am the battlefield.

He looked at me and smiled reassuringly and said, "Everything is going to be okay," because that's what I wanted him to say and it's what he wanted to say and that's what you do when the curtain is falling--you give the line that the audience wants to hear.

Five men and two women, strangers to one another on the eve of that final growing season, now bound by the unspoken promise that the least of them was greater than the sum of all of them.

Floods, fires, earthquakes, disease, starvation, betrayal, isolation, murder. What doesn't kill us sharpens us. Hardens us. Schools us.

I'm determined, when the time comes, to at least go out with clean teeth.

How would you rather die?" she snapped. "Hiding under your bed or riding Thunder Mountain?

I give her back an honest-to-goodness smile, the old Ben Parish smile, the one that got me practically everything I wanted. Well, not practically; I'm being modest.

I had it all wrong. Before I found you, I thought the only way to hold on was to find something to live for. It isn't. To hold on, you have to find something you're willing to die for.

I am drowning in an infinite sea.

If you don't kill all of us all at once, those who remain will not be the weak. It's the strong who remain, the bent but unbroken, like the iron rods that used to give this concrete its strength.

It doesn’t begin inside my head like I expected. Instead a delicious warmth spreads through my body, expanding from my heart outward, and my bones and muscles and skin dissolve in the warmth that spreads out from me, until the warmth overcomes the Earth and the boundaries of the universe. The warmth is everywhere and everything. My body and everything outside my body belongs to it. Then I feel him; he is in the warmth, too, and there’s no separation between us, no spot where I end and he begins, and I open up like a flower to the rain, achingly slow and dizzyingly fast, dissolving in the warmth, dissolving in him and there’s nothing to see, that’s just the convenient word he used because there is no word to describe him, he just is. And I open to him, a flower to the rain.

I pada mi na pamet da među nama – živima i mrtvima – nema neke bitne razlike; sve je u glagolskom vremenu: prošli mrtvi i budući mrtvi.

I think that's the way it is. When you love someone. Something happens to them, and it's a punch in the heart. Not like a punch in the heart; a real punch in the heart.

We are one, you and I. Brothers in hate, brothers in cunning, brothers in the spirit of vengeance.

I've decided to trust him, but like somebody once said, you can't force yourself to trust. So you put all your doubts in a little box and bury it deep and then try to forget where you buried it. My problem is that buried box is like a scab I can't stop picking at.

No one will remember us, out footprints erased, our legacies wiped out, our children and their children and their children's children at war against one another unto the last generation, to the end of the world.

That's my name. Not Cassie for Cassandra. Or Cassie for Cassidy. And it's not Cassie for Cassiopeia. Not anymore. I am more than her now. I am all of them, Evan and Ben and Marika and Megan and Sam. I am Dumbo and Poundcake and Teacup. I am all the ones you emptied, the ones you corrupted, the ones you discarded, the thousands you thought you killed, but who live in me. But I am more than this. I am all those they remember, the ones they loved, everyone they knew, and everyone they only heard about. How many are contained in me? Count the stars. Go on, number the grains of sand. That's me. I am humanity.

The girl sleeping and the finisher, willing himself to finish her. Why didn't he finish her? Why couldn't he finish her?

The wheat had survived the hail and lightning of the summer storms, but luck could not deliver it from the cold. By the time the refugees took shelter in the old house, the wheat was dead, killed by the hard fist of a deep frost.

We are humanity, the banner read. Wrong. We’re pale reflections of it, weak shadows, distant echoes.

Some things down to the smallest of things, are worth the sum of all things

That's my big problem. That's it! Before the Arrival,guys like Evan Walker never looked twice at me, much less shot wild game for me and washed my hair. They never grabbed me by the back of the neck like the airbrushed model on his mother's paperback,abs a-clenching, pecs a-popping. My eyes have never been looked into, or my chin raised to bring my lips within an inch of theirs. I was the girl in the background, the just-friend,or -worse- the friend of a just-friend, the you-sit-next-to-her-in-geometry-but-can't-remember-her-name girl.

The nights did not come gently but seemed to slam down angrily upon the Earth, and starlight transformed the golden brown of the wheat to the colour of polished silver.

Too many people say something when they really have nothing to say.