“I'm sorry, Heather, but everything was not just fine before I got here. You know how I know that? Because you're dead. Okay? You are dead. Dead people don't have lockers, or best friends, or boyfriends. You know why? Because they're dead.-Suze Simon”
“That hurt querida, that really hurt”
“And try to remember what we discussed, Susannah. A mediator is someone who helps others resolve conflicts. Not someone who, er, kicks them in the face.”
“They just kept grinning at me from over the stupid sign, Dopey because
he's too dumb to know any better, Doc because – well, I guess because he might have been glad to see
me. Doc's weird that way. Sleepy, the oldest, just stood there, looking … well, sleepy.”
“How is it that I'd nearly been smothered to death, and yet I could sit there and notice things like my stepbrother's abdominal muscles a few minutes later?”
“[...] even in the cruelest human being there can exist a flower of good. Maybe just the tiniest blossom, in need of water and sunlight, but a flower just the same.”
“I won’t tell you how I managed to break in, since I don’t want the authorities figuring out, but let’s just say that if you’re going to make a gate, make sure it reaches all the way to the ground.”
“God, sit by the freak, why don't you."
"Excuse me, do you have Tourette's?"
"What?"
"Tourette's Syndrome. It's a neurological disorder that causes people to say things they don't really mean. Do you have it?"
"No."
"Oh, so you were being purposely rude."
"I wasn't calling YOU a freak."
"I'm aware of that. That's why I'm only going to break ONE of your fingers after school, instead of all of them.”
“I'll tell you what kind of girl I'm not," I said crankily. "I am not the kind of girl who's looking to share her room with a member of the opposite sex. Understand me? So either you move out, or I force you out. It's entirely up to you. I'll give you some time to think about it. But when I get back here, Jesse, I want you gone.”
“Sister Ernestine said something very nasty about how maybe Miss Simon didn’t realize how unpleasant detention at the Mission Academy could be. I assured Sister Ernestine that if she was threatening corporal punishment, I would tell my mother, who was a local news anchor-woman and would be over here with a TV camera so fast, nobody would have time to say so much as a single Hail Mary. Sister Ernestine was pretty quiet after that.”
“Okay, let me state right now that I am not a coward. I'm really not. But I'm not a fool, either. I think if you recognize that you are up against a force greater than your own, it is perfectly okay to run.
It's not okay to leave others behind, though.”
“Of course, I didn't know how I felt about my first kiss coming from one of the undead, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, and let me tell you something, Jesse was way cuter than any live guy I'd met lately.”
“My intention, of course, had been to wake up early and call Father Dominic to warn him about Heather. But intentions are only as good as the people who hold them, and I guess I must be worthless because I didn't wake up until my mother shook me awake, and by then it was 7:30, and my ride was leaving without me.”
“So there I was, sitting on the plane in a black leather motorcycle jacket, seeing these palm trees through the window as we landed. And I thought, Great. Black leather and palm trees. Already I'm fitting in, just like I knew I would...
...Not.”
“You gazed into my eyes, what could I do but linger? I ran my hand through your hair, and a cootie bit my finger.”
“I’m not resentful of the fact that she decided to marry a guy who lives three thousand miles away, forcing me to leave school in the middle of my sophomore year; abandon the best—and pretty much only—friend I’ve had since kindergarten; leave the city I’ve been living in for all of my sixteen years. Oh, no. I’m not a bit resentful.”
“When I get out of this hospital, you and I are going to sit down and have a very long chat, Susannah, about proper mediation techniques. I don't know about this habit of yours of just walking up and punching the poor souls in the face.”
“Yeah,” Bryce said, “but I mean, I drove her to it, you know? That’s the thing. If I just hadn’t broken up with her—” “You have a pretty high opinion of yourself, don’t you?” He looked taken aback. “What?” “Well, your assumption that she killed herself because you broke up with her. I don’t think that’s why she killed herself at all. She killed herself because she was sick. You had nothing to do with making her that way. Your breaking up with her may have acted as a sort of catalyst for her final breakdown, but it could just have easily been some other crisis in her life—her parents getting divorced, her not making the cheerleader squad, her cat dying. Anything. So try not to be so hard on yourself.”
“as “a general endorsement of the exploitative colonization tactics of the Spanish. Though Junipero Serra was known to have argued on behalf of the property rights and economic entitlement of converted Native Americans, he consistently advocated against their right to self-governance, and was a staunch supporter of corporal punishment, appealing to the Spanish government for the right to flog Indians.” When Doc had finished this particular lecture, I just looked at him and went, “Photographic memory much?” He looked embarrassed. “Well,” he said. “It’s good to know the history of the place where you’re living.” I filed this away for future reference. Doc might be just the person I needed if Jesse showed up again. Now, standing in the cool office of the ancient building Junipero Serra had constructed for the betterment of the natives in the area, I wondered”
“how many ghosts I was going to encounter. That Serra guy had to have a bunch of Native Americans mad at him—particularly considering that corporal punishment thing—and I hadn’t any doubt I was going to encounter all of them. And yet, when my mom and I walked through the school’s wide front archway into the courtyard around which the Mission had been constructed, I didn’t see a single person who looked as if he or she didn’t belong there. There were a few tourists snapping pictures of the impressive fountain, a gardener working diligently at the base of a palm tree—even at my new school there were palm trees—a priest walking in silent contemplation down the airy breezeway. It was a beautiful, restful place—especially for a building that was so old and had to have seen so much death. I couldn’t understand it. Where were all the ghosts? Maybe they were afraid to hang around the place. I was a little afraid, looking up at that crucifix.”
“I guess I should explain. I'm not exactly your typical sixteen-year-old girl.
Oh, I seem normal enough, I guess. I don't do drugs, or drink, or smoke-well, okay, except for that one time Sleepy caught me. I don't have anything pierced, except my ears, and only once on each earlobe. I don't have any tattoos. I've never dyed my hair. Except for my boots and leather jacket, I don't wear an excessive amount of black. I don't even wear dark fingernail polish. All in all, I am a pretty normal, everyday, American teenage girl.
Except, of course, for the fact that I can talk to the dead.”
“whatever it is that happens to people after they’re dead. Rejoicing in heaven, or burning in hell, or being reincarnated, or ascending another plane of consciousness, or whatever.”
“There really was no advantage, that I could see, in having brothers: they chewed with their mouths open, and ate every single Poppin' Fresh roll before I'd even had one.”
“Sometime, the only way you can make someone listen is with your fist. This is not a technique espoused, I know by the diagnostic manuals on most therapists' shelves.
Then again nobody ever said I was a therapist.”
“When in doubt, I always say, wear black. You can never go wrong with black.”
“I wasn't about to admit to him that I'd never had a boyfriend. You just don't go around saying things like that to totally hot guys, even if they're dead.”
“I know it's probably wrong to fantasize about giving a nun a karate chop in the neck, but I couldn't help it. She was making me mad.”
“We'd be the Joystick Order. Out motto would be High Score for One, Pizza for All.”
“Courage is a strange thing. The more you use it, the more it consumes you.”
“From the moment any of us utter our first goo-goo's and ga-ga's, we are as good as gone. At that precise instant, any possibility that It will ever arise in us is irrevocably crushed. If any proof is needed, consider how immune to strong emotion our society has grown. At your next visit to the local funeral parlor, glance at the mourners, who can more properly be defined as spectators. Notice how they smell, how well-dressed and dignified they are. This is because viewing the dead has become overwhelmingly acceptable as a social function. Yes, even the corpse is part of the festivities, lying there as the guest of honor, laid out in his best clothes, pumped full of chemicals and smeared with make-up as the patrons file by and nurse their long buried consciences with silk handkerchiefs.”
“It’s as if they’re wearing a lie, but it doesn’t fit them.’ Trista tried to straighten her thoughts. ‘They haven’t buttoned it the right way, so it’s baggy in some places and coming away in others.”
“This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live 20 and that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the LORD is your life, and he will give you many years in the land he swore to give to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.
Deuteronomy 30:19-20 (NIV)”
“Everyone's hurting, we just choose different ways to distract our suffering”
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