The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett

I knew all about reading a lot. About how it could take you to a world what was better than the real one. A world where there were adventures and mysteries and magic. Except, of course, books ended eventually, and then you had to go back to being yourself.

There's no such thing as a normal highschool experience, Thorny. You assume everyone else is happy all he time and living an ideal life. You don't get that other people are pretending too.

Don't talk then. Paint. Dance. Write. Just don't hold your feelings inside. The longer we let pain hide in our hearts, the more it turns to poison.

These notes are little pieces of history no one cares about, but they remind you that you're not the first person to hold that book. Someone else owned it first and read the exact same words, and one way or another, it impacted them. We're all connected.

Growth comes from questioning our own hearts. But unrelenting self-doubt can lead you astray.

...do you ever know a moment is important as it's happening, or is it only when you look back that you can see your life is changed?

True artists know how to cut their subjects open and bleed them onto the canvas.

The most beautiful thing about the world is how much is unknown to us. There are so many secrets, Hawthorn. So much awaiting discovery. We are merely dust motes in the vastness of the universe.

As long as something was a mystery, there was still the potential for amazement. Maybe that's where I went wrong before. Some riddles weren't meant to be solved.

Movies were movies, whether they were old or new. They always captivated me, pulled me into worlds where anything was possible. Worlds where there were adventures and surprises, and life was never dull.

While watching the revelry in the Barn, I'd had an epiphany. Parties weren't just about who was who and being seen. It was about letting go. About celebrating that we all made it through one more boring week. Everyone came together in one place, and for a while, it was as if nothing mattered except the music and the energy and being away from all of the adults in our lives. These parties were about freedom. And friendship. They were about friendship too.

But I always wondered, if she could turn her feelings off like a switch, how much was she hiding from us? It had made her seem mysterious. Which is stupid. She wasn't mysterious; she was depressed.

But I should have taken it more seriously. I should have known that someone going missing isn't a game. That's how I treated it. You know, like Lizzie went missing just for my amusement

Yeah, you're such an outcast. No one understands you. All anyone does is sit around and think about what a loser you are. Grow up, Hawthorn. No one cares.

And no matter what happened when I went inside, I would always have that one perfect moment standing on the threshold when anything was possible.

Maybe she hated being out of control, knowing that someone or something else was dictating her fate. Because it's really not fair. A drunk driver runs a red light, and you end up dead. A guy in a movie theater coughs on you, and you catch some rare, fatal disease. You sit in class minding your own business, and there's the kid from sixth period holding a gun in his hand. Why should other people be in control? Why should someone else get to choose when you die?

Enzo thought ends were disappointing. He said when you were really immersed in a story, you started to have expectations. And the end was never as great as you imagined it could have been. Even though I mostly agreed with him, I couldn't help wanting to know everything. I was always looking for more.

She didn't mind the streaks of color I'd left on her fur. Unlike me, she didn't see it as a mess.

People change. Thank God. I can't imagine a world where everyone's the same as they were in high school.

I didn't wave my daisy. I felt small, the way an ant must feel looking up at a field of wildflowers. I was nothing. I was trapped below flowers, buried under them, while girls like Lizzie Lovett danced overhead. That was life. We all have a place.

She couldn't get that a wanted a car that was a little broken. When something starts out perfect, it usually lets me down.

The woods had swallowed Lizzie's secrets. She had lived, and she had died, and now, there was no trace of her. Elizabeth Lovett was just a name in a newspaper article, a statistic, someone people used to know.

Confusion is like curiosity, it reminds us that we're alive. To not feel confused means we no longer care. Not caring is death.

And if Lizzie Lovett couldn't find a reason why life was worth living, what hope did the rest of us have? What hope did I have.

Do you ever know a moment is important as it's happening, or is it only when you look back that you can see your life is changed.

No one ever really knows anyone else. Not completely.

Your perception of the world is your own. No one can take it from you. Don’t let fear overwhelm what you know to be real.