Burned Ellen Hopkins Quotes

A word to the unwise. Torch every book. Char every page. Burn every word to ash. Ideas are incombustible. And therein lies your real fear.

in a woman's womb. another chance. to make the world better.

Real love finds you once, if you're lucky.

God is love," she said. "And he respects love, whether it's between a parents, and child, a man and woman, or friends. I don't think he cares about religion one little bit. Live your life right. Love with all your heart. Don't hurt others, and help those in need. That is all you need to know. And don't worry about heaven. If it exists, you'll be welcome.

Love is only found in books

Some people never find love at all, count yourself blessed if it ever happens your way

Would I ever find forever love? Do I really want to, when forever was a word without meaning?

Did you ever, when you were little, endure your parents’ warnings, then wait for them to leave the room, pry loose protective covers and consider inserting some metal object into an electrical outlet? Did you wonder if for once you might light up the room? When you were big enough to cross the street on your own, did you ever wait for a signal, hear the frenzied approach of a fire truck and feel like stepping out in front of it? Did you wonder just how far that rocket ride might take you? When you were almost grown, did you ever sit in a bubble bath, perspiration pooling, notice a blow dryer plugged in within easy reach, and think about dropping it into the water? Did you wonder if the expected rush might somehow fail you? And now, do you ever dangle your toes over the precipice, dare the cliff to crumble, defy the frozen deity to suffer the sun, thaw feather and bone, take wing to fly you home?

But, though I was very much in lust with him, I knew from the start we were nothing like "forever." Maybe because forever is such a scary place.

You'll only find happy endings in books. Some books.

Do you ever dangle your toes over the precipice, dare the cliff to crumble, defy the frozen deity to suffer the sun, thaw feather and bone, take wing to fly you home?

In my limited realm of experience, beginnings led to endings.

What's the point of being a hero when everyone thinks you're a villain?

Something stirred beneath my skin, some being inside I'd only suspected existed, demon or angel, I couldn't say.

God wasn't love, couldn't be love. Because for me, love was a corpse.

You shine like the Milky Way. Now, there are those who might try to take that from you, but you don't have to give it away. Keep on shining.

The love of her life dissolved into dreams.

You are a gift to all who know you, whether or not they realize it. If they don't, they are blind. You have a special place in this world. All you have to do is find it. Do not give up on yourself, or the truths you have realized. Do not give in to those who could crush your dreams like nutshells. And never turn away from forever love.

Do not give up on yourself, on the truths you have realized. Do not give in to those who would crush your dreams like nutshells. And never turn away from forever love.

But more importantly, you are a gift, to all who know you, whether or not they realize it. If they don't, they are blind. You have a special place in this world. All you hvae to do is find it.

I was about six years old, still Daddy's little girl, even though Daddy couldn't care less about me. How could I expect any man every would?

Me? Beautiful? I'm plain as cardboard. That may be how you see yourself, but the rest of the world would be hard to agree. You shine brighter than the Milky Way. Now there are those who might try to take that from you, but you don't have to give it away. Keep on shining Pattyn. And when the right young man comes along, he'll love you all the more for giftin' this sad planet with your light.

Defiance rose up like vomit. I swung back and yelled, "Don't ever do that again!

I felt angry, frustrated. I felt I didn't belong, not in my, church, not in my home, not in my skin.

Some people Are worthy of a bullet straight to the heart because that is where cruelty evolves into evil. Some humans aren't human at all, despite how they appear. Humanity is what lives inside people, harbored beneath skin, flesh, and bone.

You think God would let a girl do something special?

My grandmother used to say God gives us drought years-years drained of happiness-to prepare us for bounteous times. I'm more than ready for bounty.

I felt angry, frustrated. I felt I didn't belong, not in my church, not in my home, not in my skin. Amidst the chaos, i felt alone, in need of a friend instead of a sister, someone detached from my world. The "woman's role" theory disgusted me. I would soon be a woman, and I knew I could never perform as expected. I was tired of my mom's submission to her religion, to her husband's sick quest for an heir, to his abuse. I was sick of my dad, of reaching for him as he fell farther away from us and into the arms of Johnnie WB.

I had never kissed a boy, had never even considered that I might enjoy such an unclean thing, until literature opened my eyes.

Communication Was never big in my house. We sat together over dinner, but the only sound you'd hear was crunching and chewing and the little ones asking for more, please. We lived, all boxed up in invisible containers. We hardly knew the people we called sister or father. Jackie and I were the exceptions to that rule.

I knew from the start we were nothing like "forever". Maybe because forever is such a scary place.

Honesty. Sobriety. My virginity. No way to regain the first two, I almost gave away the last.

Dad staggered in, eyes eerily lit. The corners of his mouth foaming spit. His demons planned an overnight stay. Mom motioned to take the girls away. hide them in their rooms, safe in their beds. We closed the doors, covered our heads, as if the blankets could mute the sounds of his blows or we could silence her screams behind out pillows. I hugged the littlest ones close to my chest, till the beat of my heart lulled them to rest. Only then did I let myself cry. Only then did I let myself wonder why Mom didn't fight back, didn't defend, didn't confess to family or friend. Had Dad's demons claimed her soul? Or was this, as well, a woman's role?

Aunt J, I've begged for love for seventeen years. Without you, I would never have found it.

Happiness is a bull's-eye, awaiting arrows of pain.

I thought he'd run if he knew. Instead, he offered help, not that I believed he could possibly help. I thought he'd turn his back, close his heart, slink away. Instead, he promised sanctuary.

Librarians were like guardian angels, with graying hair and beady eyes, magnified through reading glasses, and always read to recommend new literary windows to gaze through.

Concentrate. Level the sight. Breathe in. Ease the trigger. And relax? BLAP! The can somersaulted across the sand. Pride swelled till I thought I'd burst. But my pride slipped at Dad's reality check. Not bad. Pretty good, in fact. For a girl.

I know it may sound weird, but looking death square in the eye made me question the unknown. What happens after we exhale our last breathe? Do we really see an otherworldly light? Does God send angels to guide us home? Or when our eyes close, do we forfeit sight? And will our earthly spirits forever roam?

When People Ask How he’s doing now, I have no idea what to say except for, “Better.” I don’t know if that’s true, or what goes on in a place like Aspen Springs, not that any- one knows he’s there, thank God. He has dropped off most people’s radar, although that’s kind of odd. Before he took this unbelievable turn, Conner was top rung on our social ladder. But with his crash and burn no longer news of the day, all but a gossipy few have quit trying to fill in the blanks. One exception is Kendra, who for some idiotic reason still loves him and keeps asking about him, despite the horrible way he dumped her. Kendra may be pretty, but she’s not especially bright.

One Time, One Day between Davie and Roberta , I asked my mom why she persisted, kept on having baby after baby, She looked at me, at a spot between my eyes, blinking like I had suddenly fallen crazy. She paused before answering as if to confide would legitimize my fears. She drew a deep breath, leaned against the chair. I touched her hand and I thought she might cry. Instead she put baby Davie in my arms Pattyn, she said, it's a woman's role. I decided if it was my role, I'd rather disappear.

Hurt. Enough to want to make someone else hurt too.

I felt so fine I didn't once overanalyze the perfect emotion, budding inside. The one I'd always feared most.

Love is a pain in disguise, a scorpion lying in wait for just the right moment to strike and inject you with its poison before scuttling off into the shadows.

Later, Bishop Crandall dropped by The house to give me a stern reprimand. He sat across the cluttered table, playing with a paper clip. 'Your parents are worries about you, Pattyn.' I was worried about myself. But I wasn't about to let him know it. "Really?" 'Really. What have you got to say for yourself? You've always been such a good girl.' Good girl. Sit. Stay. Fetch. Bristles rose up along my spine. "Define good." 'I don't appreciate your attitude, Pattyn. Fast and pray. Search your soul for the inequities in your life.' "Any inequity in my life began when I was born female. Can you fix that?" 'You'll have to fix that yourself, by concentrating on the things God expects of you.' His two-faced rhetoric was pissing me off. "You mean like kissing your ass?" He slammed his hand on the table. 'I will not listen to that sort of language. Apologize!' Behind me, I hear Mom gasp. But I was on a roll. "I'm sorry, Bishop I'm sorry I ever believed you might have something worthwhile to say.

Maybe the church was right. Maybe I'm selfish. Maybe I'm evil. Maybe I'm damned. I feel like I'm on a tight rope, barely balancing. I know it's a long way down and I'm afraid I'm destined to crash.

This building disguised as a house of worship, was rather like a hive. A backward hive, for honeybees, at least, have the good sense to worship the female that gifts them all with life. They do not hold their drones in such high esteem. But here, is the hive of hornets, the males flitted flower to flower, pollinating, and stinging and injecting their poison.

Home. What does it mean to me? Will I ever know home again?

Satan has bigger fish to fry, mostly in Washington, D.C. Now how about dinner?

Too many worries will take your pretty away.

Right Here. Beside a living, breathing human being who cares for me. I can see it in the cool lagoons of his eyes, hear it in the timbre of his voice when he speaks my name. Right here. Where the warmth of his skin tempers the February cold and the thinnest beam of his inner light overcomes winter's pall. He is a candle in the wilderness. Right here. Where the omnipresent specter of death takes flight, awed by the power of the two of us, hearts beating in unison, as we stumble through the darkness toward one another.

If you've never shot a gun, You can’t understand how it feels in your hands. Cool to the touch, all its venom coiled inside, deadly, like a steel-scaled serpent. Awaiting your bidding. You select it’s prey… paper, tin, or flesh. You lie in wait, learn that patience is the killer’s most trustworthy accomplice. You choose the moment. What. Where. When. Decided. But the how is everything. You lift your weapon, ease it into place, cock it, to load it, knowing the satisfying snitch means a bullet is yours to command. Now, make or break, it’s all up to you. You aim knowing a hair either way means bull’s-eye or miss. Success or failure. Life or death. You have to relax, convince your muscles not to be tense, not to betray you. Sight again. Adjust. Don’t become distracted by the heat of the hunt. Instincts take over. You shoot and adrenaline screams as your target shreds or the flesh drops. And for one indescribable moment you are God.

But on that night, Dad staggered in, eyes eerily lit. The corners of his mouth foaming spit. His demons planned an overnight stay. Mom motioned to take the girls away, hide them in their rooms, safe in their beds. We closed the doors, covered our heads, as if blankets could mute the sounds of his blows or we could silence her screams beneath her pillows. I hugged the littlest ones close to my chest, till the beat of my heart lulled them to rest. Only then did I let myself cry. Only then did I let myself wonder why Mom didn't fight back, didn't defend, didn't confess to family or friend. Had Dad's demons claimed her soul? Or was this, as well, another woman's role?

Some people blunt such pain with dope or booze or a dive into madness, but I don't have such luxuries available to me.

It pays to be the better predator.

How can I respect a house where women are no more than servants? How can I respect rules laid down by a phantom father? How can I respect a man who...

Women are inferior. And God likes it that way.

Violence is never right. But a man has a duty to keep his wife in check.

But if there is a hereafter, one my father has been welcomed into, it must be a godless wasteland.

I have no right to love you, but I do.

Can 'love and obey' possibly go together?

Walk bravely.

adjudicator.

I Began To view the world at large through borrowed eyes, eyes more like those I wanted to own.

It's one thing to crave a shot of adventure, a taste of something new, and quite another to become immersed in the extraordinary, where you're not quite certain if you're safe or stuck in limbo.

If I awoke in the morning to find him gone, would I think it was all a dream? Or would I more likely believe it was all a mistake?

Best let water passed under the bridge keep on trickling downstream.

It was all too good to be true. It was Cinderella and Prince Charming squared. It was approaching happily ever after. It was Paradise, awaiting Armageddon.

You'll only find happy endings in books. Some books.

I'm mired in a quicksand of dreams, I am comforted to know all that separates us is a thin veil of consciousness.

She calls me honey, but offers no real sympathy. Is that part of being a woman, too?

As fragile as it is, love can also be stubborn.

People aren't meant to carry sorrow alone. And joy? Well, that is something best shared.