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Young Adult Quotes

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Young Adult Quotes

“We were riding the 7:04 a.m. ferry crossing the Puget Sound to the Seattle Academy of Academic Excellence. The sky was overcast with streaks of gray, tufts of white, and shards of sun. Drizzling. All our fellow students who lived in Port Ann made the hour ferry ride to and from Seattle every day. We didn't mind--it gave us two hours a day to do our advanced placement homework, practice our Latin, and eat fries.”

“He still looked confused, dazed, and I pushed him into the water ahead of me. I kept one hand firm on his shoulder and steered him up the river. Ankle-deep, the water was painfully cold as it seeped through the seams in my boots. The boy stumbled several times and would have stopped, but I pushed him on. We'd gone perhaps half a league upriver when I heard the first faint bay of hounds. They were behind us, already approaching the riverbank, and the baying rapidly grew louder. I took my hand from the boy's shoulder t curl my fingers around the hilt of my sword. As if my sword would do much. If they wanted him dead, they'd have archers.”

“Connor Scarborough was a local legend. Unlike most of the Holloway High kids who had been going to school together their entire lives, Connor hadn’t shown up until halfway through eighth grade. And when he did, he stood out like a sore thumb. Not because he was the new kid or because of his fondness for black tank tops and denim jackets, but because of the scar. Red and jagged, it ran from beneath his bangs all the way down through his left eye to the middle of his cheek. And it didn’t take long at all for the stories to start. Or for the cruel nicknames to spread.”

“On the end of my bed. He’s short, round and bald, with a tartan loin cloth, and what looks like a spout on the top of his head,’ Bryony said. ‘You flatter me,’ came the snide male voice. ‘But it’s a valve.”

“June 1, 2015 “I’m on the airplane going back home. Everyone is speaking English. It doesn’t feel real. Like I’m living a dream. I don’t feel it in my soul that I should be going home.”

“She imagined him leaning against the shuttle, entertaining thoughts of scolding her for dressing like a ragged commoner. Never mind that her present outfit was light years ahead in comfort. (Actually, he’s wishing he had been less critical of you earlier. He feels bad that you won’t acknowledge his presence, and he blames himself.) (Quit it, Ian. I’m not going to feel sorry for him.) She caught her protector’s shrewd grin, highlighted by the fire’s glow. (You already do, Queenie.) (This talent of yours is really annoying.) He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “That’s not what you thought earlier when you wanted to get ahold of Efren.” “One tiny rosebud in a handful of thorns,” she retorted.”

“An unspoken question arose in those green eyes. Aelin? She ignored the silent inquiry, unable to bear opening that silent channel between them again, and surveyed the powerful lines of his body, the sheer size of him. A gentle wind kissed with ice and lightning brushed against her wall offlame, an echo of his silent inquiry. Her magic flared in answer, a ripple of power dancing through her. As if it had found a mirror of itself in the world, as if it had found the countermelody to its own song. Not once in those illusions or dreams had it done that. Had her own flame leaped in joy at his nearness, his power. He was here. It was him, and he’d come for her.”

“You cannot make this kind of decision," he said. "Go off with someone you barely know. You're seventeen." "And you're the guy who got drunk on eggnog last Christmas and danced to 'Turn The Beat Around' in Aunt Rachel's wig, so stop acting like you're in charge." "We agreed not to mention that ever again," Jason whispered furiously.”

“Muhammad ﷺ is for us, an EXAMPLE and GUIDE, The GREATEST Prophet, in him we take pride. Spread GOODNESS wherever you go, but make sure, That in your heart, your intentions remain PURE. Take yourself to account, before you’re accounted for, So that in this life and the next, you’ll be successful forevermore.”

“Your mother hollers that you’re going to miss the bus. She can see it coming down the street. You don’t stop and hug her and tell her you love her. You don’t thank her for being a good, kind, patient mother. Of course not -- you vault down down the stairs and make a run for the corner. Only if it’s the last time you’ll ever see your mother, you sort of start to wish you’d stopped and did those things. Maybe even missed the bus. But the bus was barreling down our street so I ran.”

“Her skin is moon-luster white, but with undercurrents of blue, like an entire network of split, broken veins. It stretches like old parchment over the amalgam of enlarged muscles that she presumably calls arms or legs; the bulk is such that I can’t tell if she has only arms and no legs, or vice versa. If she wanted to, she could easily pursue an enemy on all fours, or else wield a freezeshot weapon in every one of her clawed hands. Or feet. My brain spins from trying to process. Wings, too, arch powerfully from her shoulder blades, their span broader than my height. They look like aged leather. I have the strangest urge to, if I were closer, run my fingers across the membrane, see if it feels as strong and solid as it looks. “Better?” the monster says, sardonic. She draws her arm back, the ball of false flame now illuminating her face. My breath catches in my throat. She looms above me, even as I rise up on my toes, her height terminating at perhaps eight feet. That arch of jawline could’ve been carved from glass, and likewise the curves of her cheeks, the solid line of her brow—her face is more bones than skin, a skeleton animated, a corpse confused at its own continued breath.”

“I wish it were just us. I wish there were another universe, a far-off galaxy, even just one planet where we could be together, hidden away from political conflicts and rising wars. I want to fall asleep and wake up in our own little pocket of private time, orbiting each other, spinning on the selfsame axis, our days and nights in sync until we have no more left to give.”

“But now, I feel like there's something in me that can't stay quiet anymore. "What I was trying to say is that it reminds me of Einstein's theory of relativity. But obviously[,] Milton isn't talking about the speed of light, he's talking about how the human mind views life." [....] "But really, Milton and Einstein were kind of saying the same thing. That everything is subjective in the human mind. Our emotions, our opinions, they're all relative. It all depends on perspective.”

“Jag kliver ur resterna av vad som en gång var en mintgrön långklänning. Med fingrarna undersöker jag hålen och revorna i det skira tyget. Tillsammans med de stora, rostbruna fläckarna berättar dem en historia som jag fortfarande inte riktigt förstår. Jag förstår inte hur jag hamnade mitt i den, än mindre hur jag klarade mig levande ur den.”