Ellen Louise Hopkins (born March 26, 1955) is a novelist who has published several New York Times bestselling novels that are popular among the teenage and young adult audience.
This is unstoppable, no holds barred. This is beautiful. Crazy. A beginning. Betrayal. Addictive. Aggressive. Alive. This is something to be afraid of.
revenge is living well with out you.
How can I explain purposely setting foot on a path so blatantly treacherous? Was the fun in the fall?
You can’t walk away from someone you love, leave them drowning in your desertion. If love has no more meaning than that, you can keep it. I don’t want it now or ever again. Don’t want to hear the word or wear its scars.
The more I think about it, the more I believe there has to be a subtle yet satisfying method of revenge.
The Screaming flashed me back to a time when mom and dad were still together if you could call miles apart together.
Life is full of choices. We don't always make good ones.
I think parents should know what their children are reading, and if they truly object, they should tell their kids why, rather than summarily removing a book from their possession.
Despite whoever created it, it's my world, & the only one I've got. Might as well make the best of it, right? Might as well have a little fun while I'm here. Or a lot of fun. Might be dead tomorrow.
I fell for a boy from the wrong side of the tracks.
My happiest memories have no place in the past; they are those I have yet to create.
When I was little, my friends would gush over wedding gowns and honeymoons. But I saw too many people flush decades together down the toilet over money or kids or meaningless flings. My own parents chose to stay married, which I think is rather funny, since they show about as much affection for each other as pit bulls in a ring. Tying the knot means slipping a noose around love and choking it to death.
Some people never find love at all, count yourself blessed if it ever happens your way
Not Exactly True That skin hate is dead. There will never be color blindness in a culture of fear. But when you live afraid of your neighbor, the monster you should most walk in terror of thrives. It starts as a little thing, small enough to burrow into your pores, take up excruciating residence in the dark recesses of your brain. Its name is paranoia, and it spreads like an oil spill, there in the shadows, chokes your humanity. Threatens your soul.
Love means holding on to someone just as hard as you can because if you don't, one blink and they might disappear. . . forever.
Disappointment Can do a couple things. It can drop you into a giant sucking sinkhole of depression, a place you have to fight to climb out of. Or it can trigger an epic mania to overcome the odds and transform failure into success. Say you swing as high as the chains will take you because you seek the thrill of flight, and on the up- kick, you lose your seat. Injury is likely. But if you worry about falling down, and never chance "up," the sky will remain forever out of reach.
Even without them touching me, I feel dirty about what I do. Alex does even filthier things but says it all washes off with soap. I don’t believe that. I think it all leaves stains. Indelible stains.
I tattered their wings and tore off their legs, joint by joint, watched them crawl in circles, like little lost infants, untill they decide to die.
Something stirred beneath my skin, some being inside I'd only suspected existed, demon or angel, I couldn't say.
The only thing about myself I know for sure is that I don't know anything.