Michelle Hodkin Quotes

The ability to heal does not make one good any more than the ability to kill makes one evil. Kill the right people, and you become a hero. Heal the wrongs ones, and you become a villain. It is our choices that define us, not our abilities

The idea was a splinter in my mind. Always there, always stinging,even when I wasn't conscious of it. Even when I wasn't thinking about it.

I was warned about you, you know."And with that half-smile that wrecked me, Noah said, "But you're here anyway.

They lie, you know. It's not easier to ask for forgiveness. Not even a little.

The two of us snuggled like quotation marks in his room full of words.

My brother spent a large portion of the agonizingly slow drive to school banging his forehead on the stearing wheel.

Why?' He asked.'Why what?' What could I say? Noah, despite you being an asshole, or maybe because of it, I'd like to rip off your clothes and have your babies. Don't tell.

I slipped in and out of consciousness as time stretched and flowed around me. Dreams and reality blurred, but I liked the dreams better. Noah was in them.I dreamed of us, walking hand in hand down a crowded street in the middle of the day. We were in New York. I was in no rush—I could walk with him forever—but Noah was. He pulled me alongside him, strong and determined and not smiling. Not today.We wove among the people, somehow not touching a single one. The trees were green and blossoming. It was spring, almost summer. A strong wind shook a few steadfast flowers off of the branches and into our path. We ignored them.Noah led me into Central Park. It was teeming with human life. Bright colored picnic blankets burst across the lawn, the pale, outstretched forms of people wriggling over them like worms in fruit. We passed the reservoir, the sun reflecting off its surface, and then the crowd began to thicken.They funneled into a throbbing mass as we strode up a hill, over and through. Until we could see them all below us, angry and electric. Noah reached into his bag. He pulled out the little cloth doll, my grandmother’s. The one we burned.