Matched Ally Condie Quotes

Growing apart doesn't change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I'm glad for that.

Every minute you spend with someone gives them a part of your life and takes part of theirs.

It is strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures.

Is falling in love with someone's story the same thing as falling in love with the person himself?

In the end you can't always choose what to keep. You can only choose how you let it go.

Once you want something, everything changes.

We could have been happy. I know that, and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know.

Now that I've found the way to fly, which direction should I go into the night?

Why are some things easier to write than say?

But if you were Matched," I say softly, "What do you think she'd be like?" "You," he says, almost before I've finished. "You.

That’s how I know they are dreams. Because the simple and plain and everyday things are the ones that we can never have. (Cassia Reyes)

I think of how perhaps the best way to fly would be with hands full of earth, so you always remember where you came from.

Love changes what is probable and makes unlikely things possible.

You cannot change your journey if you are unwilling to move at all.

Cassia. I know which life is my real one now, no matter what happens. It’s the one with you. For some reason, knowing that even one person knows my story makes things different. Maybe it’s like the poem says. Maybe this is my way of not going gentle. I love you. (Ky Markham)

Ky can play this game. He can play all of their games, including the one in front of him that he just lost. He knows exactly how to play, and that's why he loses every time.

I love. The most reckless thing of all.

Our time together feels like a storm, like a wild wind and rain, like something too big to handle but too powerful to escape.

I came up on the screen, too, Cassia. But he was the one you chose to see.

I want to reach out and grab his hand and hold it to me, right over my heart, right where it aches the most. I don't know if doing that would heal me or make my heart break entirely, but either way this constant hungry waiting would be over.

It is one thing to make a choice and it is another thing to never have the chance.

Red is the first color of spring. It's the real color of rebirth. Of beginning.

I wonder if I will ever have the strength to hold onto something. Or if I will always be someone who destroys.

His lips move silently, and I know what he says: the words of a poem that only two people in the world know.

No one should die alone.

I am trapped in glass and I want to break out and breath deep but I´m too afraid that it will hurt.

Forgetting lets you live without the pain for a moment but remembering hits hard.

I climb into the dark for you Are you waiting in the stars for me?

I realize now how much courage it takes to choose the life you want, whatever that might be.

Did the poet know how lucky he was, to have such beautiful words and a place to put them and keep them?

What is it about your voice that makes me want to hear you speak?

Remembering is part of thinking, but not all of it.

How can we appreciate anything fully when overwhelmed with too much?

In a story, you can turn to the front and begin again and everyone lives once more. That doesn't work in real life.

Once you want something, everything changes. Now I want everything. More and more and more.

It's all right to wonder.

Everyone has something of beauty about them. But loving lets you look, and look, and look again. You notice the back of a hand, the turn of a head, the way of a walk. When you first love, you look blind and you see it all as the glorious, beloved whole, or a beautiful sum of beautiful parts. But when you see the one you love as pieces, as why's, you can love those parts too, and it's a love at once more complicated and more complete.

I wish I could have one without the other, but that's the problem with being alive. You don't usually get to choose the measure of suffering or the degree of joy you have.

If you let hope inside, it takes you over. It feeds on your insides and uses your bones to climb and grow. Eventually it becomes the thing that is your bones, that holds you together. Holds you up until you don't know how to live without it anymore. To pull it out of you would kill you entirely.

There's a reason they didn't keep this poem. This poem tells you to fight.

Words mean what you want them to mean.

So in the middle of all the noise, I point to the sky. I hope he understands what I mean, because I mean so many things: My heart will always fly his name. I won't go gentle. I'll find a way to soar like the angels in the stories and I will find him. And I know he understands as he looks straight at me, deep into my eyes. His lips move silently, and I know what he says: the words of a poem that only two people in the world know. Tears well up but I blink them away. Because if there is one moment in my life that I want to see clearly, this is it.

In the absence of real thunder, he's making his own.

It's not knowing how to write that makes you interesting, it's what you write.

There is ebb and flow. Leaving and coming. Flight and fall. Sing and silent. Reaching and reached.

I remember what Anna called the three of us. The Pilot. The Poet. The Physic. They are in all of us. I believe this. They every person might have a way to fly, a line of poetry to put down for others to see, a hand to heal.

They are giving us pieces of a real life instead of the whole thing. They have perfected the art of giving us just enought freedom; just enough that when we are ready to snap, a little bone is offered and we roll over, belly up, comfortable and placated like a dog... - Cassia

Love has different shades. Like the way I loved Cassia when I thought she'd never love me. The way I loved her on the Hill. The way I love her now that she came into the canyon for me. It's different. Deeper. I thought I loved her and wanted her before, but as we walk through the canyon together I realize this could be more than a new shade. A whole new color.

I love you." lightning. Once it has forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, there is no going back. It's time. I feel it, I know it. My eyes on him, his on me, and both of us breathing, watching, tired of of waiting. Ky close his eyes, but mine are still open. what will it feel like, his lips on mine? Like a secret told, a promise kept? Like that line in the poem-a shower of all my days- silvery rain falling all around me, where the lighting meets the earth? The whistle blows below us and the moment breaks. We are safe. For now.

Writing, painting, singing- it cannot stop everything. Cannot halt death in its tracks. But perhaps it can make the pause between death’s footsteps sound and look and feel beautiful, can make the space of waiting a place where you can linger without as much fear. For we are all walking each other to our deaths, and the journey there between footsteps makes up our lives.