Looking for Alaska Quotes

So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.

Thomas Edison's last words were "It's very beautiful over there". I don't know where there is, but I believe it's somewhere, and I hope it's beautiful.

When I look at my room, I see a girl who loves books.

What the hell is that?" I laughed."It's my fox hat.""Your fox hat?""Yeah, Pudge. My fox hat.""Why are you wearing your fox hat?" I asked."Because no one can catch the motherfucking fox.

They love their hair because they're not smart enough to love something more interesting.

I may die young, but at least I'll die smart.

It always shocked me when I realized that I wasn’t the only person in the world who thought and felt such strange and awful things.

What you must understand about me is that I’m a deeply unhappy person.

Francois Rabelais. He was a poet. And his last words were "I go to seek a Great Perhaps." That's why I'm going. So I don't have to wait until I die to start seeking a Great Perhaps.

At some point, you just pull off the Band-Aid, and it hurts, but then it's over and you're relieved.

And then something invisible snapped insider her, and that which had come together commenced to fall apart.

Sometimes you lose a battle. But mischief always wins the war

I am going to take this bucket of water and pour it on the flames of hell, and then I am going to use this torch to burn down the gates of paradise so that people will not love God for want of heaven or fear of hell, but because He is God.

I just did some calculations and I've been able to determine that you're full of shit.

That didn’t happen, of course. Things never happened the way I imagined them.

Sometimes I don't get you,' I said. She didn't even glance at me. She just smiled toward the television and said, 'You never get me. That's the whole point.

It's not life or death, the labyrinth. Suffering. Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?

We need never be hopeless because we can never be irreperably broken.

Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.

I wanted to be one of those people who have streaks to maintain, who scorch the ground with their intensity. But for now, at least I knew such people, and they needed me, just like comets need tails.

If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can't know better until knowing better is useless.

Before I got here, I thought for a long time that the way out of the labyrinth was to pretend that it did not exist, to build a small, self-sufficient world in the back corner of the endless maze and to pretend that I was not lost, but home.

I hated sports. I hated sports, and I hated people who played them, and I hated people who watched them, and I hated people who didn't hate people who watched or played them.

You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.

After all this time, it seems to me like straight and fast is the only way out- but I choose the labyrinth. The labyrinth blows, but I choose it.

If people were like rain, I was like drizzle and she was a hurricane.

That is the fear: I have lost something important, and I cannot find it, and I need it. It is fear like if someone lost his glasses and went to the glasses store and they told him that the world had run out of glasses and he would just have to do without.

I know so many last words. But I will never know hers.

For she had embodied the Great Perhaps--she had proved to me that it was worth it to leave behind my minor life for grander maybes, and now she was gone and with her my faith in perhaps.

At some point we all look up and realize we are lost in a maze.

And in my classes, I will talk most of the time, and you will listen most of the time. Because you may be smart, but I've been smart longer.

She's cute, I thought, but you don't need to like a girl who treats you like you're ten: You've already got a mom.

Don't you know who you love, Pudge? You love the girl who makes you laugh and shows you porn and drinks wine with you. You don't love the crazy, sullen bitch.

But a lot of times, people die how they live. And so last words tell me a lot about who people were, and why they became the sort of people biographies get written about.

I felt the unfairness of it, the inarguable injustice of loving someone who might have loved you back but can't due to deadness.

Because memories fall apart, too. And you're left with nothing.

We are as indestructible as we believe ourselves to be.

There are times when it is appropriate, even preferable, to get an erection when someone's face is in close proximity to your penis.This was not one of those times.

Scared isn't a good excuse. Scared is the excuse everyone has always used.

What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.

Entropy increases. Things fall apart.

I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.

I'm sorry. I know you loved her. It was hard not to.

There comes a time when we realize that our parents cannot save themselves or save us, that everyone who wades through time eventually gets dragged out to sea by the undertow- that, in short, we are all going.

We are greater than the sum of our parts.

Why don’t we break up? I guess I stay with her because she stays with me. And that’s not an easy thing to do.

I'm really not up for answering any questions that start with how, when, where, why or what.

Hold on." He grabbed a pencil and scrawled excitedly at the paper as if he'd just made a mathematical breakthrough and then looked back up at me. "I just did some calculations, and I've been able to determine that you're full of shit.

So why don't you go home for vacations?' I asked her.I'm just scared of ghosts, Pudge. And home is full of them.