Impulse Ellen Hopkins Quotes

Love means holding on to someone just as hard as you can because if you don't, one blink and they might disappear...forever.

Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put the gun to your chest.

Grandma once told me it's easy to overthink love, to dissect it and question it until it is no more.

One foot in front of the other, counting tiles on the floor so I don't have to focus the blur of painted smiles, fake faces.

It [death] chokes you, gags you, but you have to pretend that you're doing just fine, not trembling with this fear because the end is close.

Too much to take in, too much to purge. Why must every memory, once sweet, dead end in such ugliness?

You believe this is a game, and you may be right. But if you think you can play it better than me, think again.

My happiest memories have no place in the past; they are those I have yet to create.

Now that I have opened that bottle of memories they're pouring out like wine, crimson and bittersweet.

Wish you could turn off the questions, turn off the voices, turn off all sound. Yearn to close out the ugliness, close out the filthiness, close out all light. Long to cast away yesterday, cast away memory, cast away all jeapordy. Pray you could somehow stop uncertainty, somehow stop the loathing, somehow stop the pain. Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put the gun to your chest.

She is madness, sanity. She is hell, and paradise.

I'd sleep outside naked in the blizzard,for you.

Memory is a tenuous thing. . . . flickering glimpses, blue and white, like ancient, decomposing 16mm film. Happiness escapes me there, where faces are vague and yesterday seems to come tied up in ribbons of pain. Happiness? I look for it intead in today, where memory is something I can still touch, still rely on. I find it in the smiles of new friends, the hope blossoming inside. My happiest memories have no place in the past; they are those I have yet to create.

Forever has no meaning when you're living in the moment.

Everyone's afraid of everybody else...maybe because we're all afraid of ourselves.

HOW do you define a word without concrete meaning? To each his own, the saying goes, so WHY push to attain an ideal state of being that no two random people will agree is WHERE you want to be? Faultless. Finished. Incomparable. People can never be these, and anyway, WHEN did creating a flawless facade become a more vital goal than learning to love the person WHO lives inside your skin? The outside belongs to others. Only you should decide for you - WHAT is perfect.

I mean, if you're gonna purposely lose your mind, you want to get it back some day. Don't you? Okay, maybe not.

...what good would it do to shutter your windows, never dream of rainbows or find hope in promises? Why choose to walk away rather than hold your ground and fight for love?

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.

Bad choices or good, if you never take chances, someone else will build your life for you.

Ghosts don't scare me. Flesh and blood people do.

....a perfect paper airplane.

The truth is, I don't have a real clue what love is - how to find it, how to give it. Once upon a time I thought I knew.

Death Is only the easy way out if you are the one who dies.

And the thought of that makes me want to open a vein, experience pain, know I'm alive, despite this living death.

Fake Is that what you are if you choose to improve the basic not perfect you?

As the old saying goes, "sometimes loving someone means letting them go.

But then, my entire life is bullshit. The best things in it have vanished, ghosts. Ghosts I'll admit I created.

When you've only got one little shimmer of sunshine, you capture it best you can.

When did creating a flawless facade become a more vital goal than learning to love the person who lives inside your skin?

Grown up? Me? I suppose I have. Killing things, and almost killing myself, must have changed me some, after all.

If all you can promise me is today, I'll take it and hope for tomorrow.

But Hey, Guess What Crazy means I'm not liable for my actions. So screw it, I'll go home, propped up on Prozac against distractions

She is angle. I am curve. Together, we are geometric sculpture, and we make perfect sense.

No, of course not. But surely you know your affair couldn't go on forever." "Forever has no meaning when you're living in the moment and I wasn't ready for that moment to end.

A Problem Is really just a solution in need of a reason to exist.

I wonder how long it would take him to realize I'm right as sin - it's the rest of the world that's wrong. I'm not even sure how I qualify for admission to Aspen Springs. Does wanting to die equal losing your mind?

Living means taking chances. Risks. Playing safe all the time is being dead inside, even if you happen to still be breathing.

TRIAD: Three separate highways intersect at a place no reasonable person would ever want to go. Three lives that would have been cut short, if not for hasty interventions by loved ones. Or Fate. Three people, with nothing at all in common except age, proximity, and a wish to die. Three tapestries, tattered at the edges and come unwoven to reveal a single mutual thread.

It is hard to believe that something that seems so permanent was once so different. Change. I guess that really is one thing you can count on...

The truth is, I've always been afraid of letting anyone get too close. I built a wall around me, a barricade to hide behind those few times someone wanted entry to my heart.

Love Is a curious thing. Sometimes it barrels into you, leaves you breathless. Other times, it comes in- to your life, a tentative beam of morning sun sneaking through the blinds, and you think this light isn't possible. The shutters are drawn. Night should linger on. I don't feel like waking. Yet the room comes slowly lit. Sleep slithers away, and at last you can no longer deny the dawning.

There will never be color blindness in a culture of fear.

Freedom is a double-edged ideal, because true freedom comes without the protection of laws that also enslave us by defining us--female, male; Christian, Islamic; good, evil. All at the whim of a frail minority.

Her smile is like summer moonlight-beautiful and magical, with a fire that could melt the night.

I'd like to cry now. Don't know how.

Love is for children and dimwads.

Am I more afraid Of taking a chance and learning I'm somebody I don't know, or of risking new territory, only to find I'm the same old me? There is comfort in the tried and true. Breaking ground might uncover a sinkhole, one impossible to climb out of. And setting sail in uncharted waters might mean capsizing into a sea monster's jaws. Easier to turn my back on these things than to try tjem and fail. And yet, a whisper insists I need to know if they are or aren't integral to me. Status quo is a swamp. And stagnation is slow death.

For a long while. Finally she says, I don't believe in love. Not sure it really exists, but even if it does for some people, it won't for me. She is serious. Then she lightens up. But, hey, if you think you love me, cool.

Transformation Isn't easy when most of the people in your life think you're already perfect, and want you to stay just how they see you. Try to begin a new phase, you'd better expect push-back. Try to create a whole new you, your friend list will shrink considerably.

Sometimes, you don't wake up. But if you happen to, you know things will never be the same.

Anger is easier than forgiveness.

And how can it be he's so in love with me? To grow up without love, and still have so much inside?

It was the exact opposite for me. At first all I wanted was sex with her, but soon I wanted more. More sex, yes, in unusual places, and all different kinds. But that wasn’t all. I wanted her to fill the empty spaces left by a father who never once praised me, ‘friends’ who used me, an ice princess mom who raised me with glass kisses.

Real love shouldn't be disposable.

Love is Chocolate The unprocessed kind. Dark. Bitter. But always with the promise of sweet perfection. All it takes is sugar- that certain someone's kiss, flavored with possibility. If Dani has taught me anything, it's that life is brimming with possibilities. Every single day brings choices.

Paradise A concept embraced by almost every culture. A land of peace and harmony. Some say it doesn't belong to the earth, that there is no Shangri-la, no utopian wilderness for the living.

Commitment means losing yourself to gain something temporary. Nothing lasts. Not looks. Not love. I'm living large and living for today because there might not be a tomorrow.

My happiest memories Have no place in the Past; they are those I have yet to create.

Standing Here My entire world far beneath my feet, I should be filled with pride. Instead, I feel overwhelmed by a sense of defeat. Suddenly it comes to me, toes tempted to test the ledge, that there is a way out of this. Clam surety flows through my veins, and as I turn to wave good-bye, I wonder if it will hurt or if a single person will cry at my funeral. I take a deep breath, a final taste of sweet mountain air. I conjure Leona, Emily. Move my feet closer. Closer There's Grandma One, Grandma Two, and their spouses, waiting for me. I see Dad. Cara. Mommy. I screw up my courage, step over

Does wanting to die equal losing your mind?

Perfect? How do you define a word without concrete meaning? To each his own, the saying goes, so why push to attain an ideal state of being that no two random people will agree is where you want to be? Faultless. Finished. Incomparable. People can never be these, and anyway, when did creating a flawless facade become a more vital goal than learning to love the person who lives inside your skin? The outside belongs to others. Only you should decide for you--- what is perfect

Not exactly. I see a girl who wants to present someone special to the world. Someone beautiful. The pinnacle of beauty. But she has lost her hold on reality. Real beauty isn’t thin. It isn’t size two, unless you happen to be four foot ten. What the world sees when they look at you is someone who believes self-worth is all about how she looks, and that very often means that what she’s missing is love. Not someone else’s love. But love and respect for herself.

The wind kicks in stronger, branches clatter. Or maybe skeletons. Bones of abandonment. Ghosts that will never be.

Such an incredible waste of energy, to work your ass off for sixty years, then shrivel up, die, and be nothing more than a memory - if you're lucky enough to leave someone behind who will remember you. There must be more. Don't you think?

I can see why she feels left behind. Maybe even discarded. Is that why she refuses to accept my love and return it? Afraid that love doesn't last? Doesn't really exist? Afraid if her own father can withdraw his love (or at least the manifestation of his love), that maybe she somehow isn't worthy of the emotion?

Built by pain and drive.

But calories won't conquer me. They are one thing I can control

Only you should decide for you what is perfect.

Raining radiation on this ozone-deprived planet. The only thing she ever longed for was short-lived love.

back turned, you don't have to look at what you've left behind. And the first person who turned their back on you can't watch you break down and cry.

That stinking mirror doesn't lie. Every time I walk by it shouts out, 'Hey. Chub. When are you going to lose those 15 pounds of ugly-ass flab?

Without Warning Sometimes you're traveling a highway, the only road you've ever known, and wham! A semi comes from nowhere and rolls right over you.

I hate this feeling like I'm here, but I'm not. Like someone cares. But they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here.

Change doesn't come without invitation. You won't discover it in routine. And you won't create an all-new and better you if you wait for someone else to give you permission. Transformation begins - and ends - inside of you.

trust is just another five letter word, one that comes before not,

Except when it comes to Mom. She is, and always has been, the driving force in this family. And sometimes that means driving us head-on, no possible change of course, into a wall.

Bomb me, make me vaporise

When you live afraid of your neighbor, the monster you should most walk in terror of thrives.

And I did say excuse me, with my butt. Apparently you don’t speak “rectum.

I'm right as sin - it's the rest of the world that's wrong.

The worst liars are the ones everyone thinks would never, ever tell a lie.

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.

Tony's Kiss Is like no other kiss, ever. It wants, but does not demand. It asks, but doesn't take. It gives, and pleads for more. It is filled with desire, but also curiosity, and it teaches me that a kiss should come gift wrapped, not stripped naked. Most of all, it makes me want another kiss exactly like this one.

I don't believe in God, don't believe in the devil. Unless you want to count my mother. She might be Satan's sister, I suppose.

• You’re safe here, it (He?) said, No judgements, No worries, you’re One of My children, And a special part Of the Grand Plan.

Maybe crazy is preferable to staying strong when you just want to break down and weep.

Stagnation is a slow death.

The memory stirs sadness. It scatters around me like dust.

Life is all about change. If it were static, think about how boring it would be. You can't be afraid of it, and you can't worry that you'll mess things up.

Wishful thinking pretty much always comes back to slap you in the face.

Why is mania bad, if it means you're on top of the world, where everything is white? Bright.

I love the way she feels in the curve of my arm. I love her unpretentious beauty, her intelligence, her nerve. But could I ever love her? The concept of falling in love is completely foreign, something I can’t bring myself to accept. Her hair pillows my cheek and her hand on my leg is warm. I care about you, Conner, and I hate to see you hurting. I want to respond but can’t find the pretty words I need.

From what I've seen, love isn't about mutual respect. It's more concerns with control than sacrifice. And I wonder whether it's better or worse when love finally walks away.

I wonder if what I did made her hurt as much as she hurt me. Only fair, to trade hurt. But life isn't fair.

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.

A problem is really just a solution in need of a reason to exist. If you think about it, life would be kind of boring if it were completely free of friction.

I Won’t Fly Today Too much to do, despite the snow, which made all local schools close their doors. What a winter! Usually, I love watching the white stuff fall. But after a month with only short respites, I keep hoping for a critical blue sky. Instead, amazing waves of silvery clouds sweep over the crest of the Sierra, open their obese bellies, and release foot upon foot of crisp new powder. The ski resorts would be happy, except the roads are so hard to travel that people are staying home. So it kind of boggles the mind that three guys are laying carpet in the living room. Just goes to show the power of money. In less than an hour, the stain Conner left on the hardwood will be a ghost.

What I want to tell you is what I think he would tell you if he could. Living means taking chances. Risks. Playing it safe all the time is being dead inside, even if you happen to still be breathing. people expected Connor to play it safe all the time. And when he did, he felt dead inside. I saw him take risks, and then he was the most alive person I've ever known. he would ask you to take chances. Sometimes that means getting hurt. Getting an F. Losing a game. Losing someone you love. But if you always play it safe, you lose anyway.

The Stain That Conner left on our lives will not vanish as easily. I don’t care about Mom and her birds. Their estimation of my brother doesn’t bother me at all. Neither do I worry about Dad and what his lobbyist buddies think. His political clout has not diminished. As twins go, Conner and I don’t share a deep affection, but we do have a nine-months-in-the-same-womb connection. Not to mention a crowd of mutual friends. God, I’ll never forget going to school the day after that ugly scene. The plan was to sever the gossip grapevine from the start with an obvious explanation— accident. Mom’s orders were clear. Conner’s reputation was to be protected at all costs. When I arrived, the rumors had already started, thanks to our neighbor, Bobby Duvall. Conner Sykes got hurt. Conner Sykes was shot. Conner Sykes is in the hospital. Is Conner Sykes, like, dead? I fielded every single question with the agreed fabrication. But eventually, I was forced to concede that, though his wounds would heal, he was not coming back to school right away. Conner Sykes wasn’t dead. But he wasn’t exactly “okay.