Maximum Ride The Angel Experiment Quotes

Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?

Man, you weigh a freaking ton," he told me. "What've you been eating, rocks?" "Why, is your head missing some?" I croaked. His mouth almost quirked in a smile, and that's when I knew how upset he'd been

Popcorn for breakfast! Why not? It's a grain. It's like, like, grits, but with high self-esteem.

Yes!” said Fang, punching the air. “Freaks rule.

I feel like, like pudding," Iggy groaned. "Pudding with nerve endings. Pudding in great pain.

The funny thing about facing imminent death is that it really snaps everything else into perspective.

Holy [Insert your choice of a swear word here]," said Fang stunned.

Well, that's an evil smile...

Dr. Martinez: "I take it you don't want me to call your parent?" Max: "Uh, no." Hello, lab? May I speak to the test tube please?

In the dictionary, next to the word stress, there is a picture of a midsize mutant stuck inside a dog crate, wondering if her destiny is to be killed or to save the world. Okay, not really. But there should be.

I took a bite of cookie and chewed. “Hmmm,” I said, trying not to spit crumbs. “Clear vanilla notes, too-sweet chocolate chips, distinct flavor of brown sugar. A decent cookie, not spectacular. Still, a good-hearted cookie, not pretentious.” I turned to Fang. “What say you?” “It’s fine.” Some people just don’t have what it takes to appreciate a cookie.

I didn't know a van could go up on two wheels like that, for so long." -Nudge

Feeding a crowd?' the woman behind the counter asked. Yes, ma'am ,' Fang said sweetly. Yeah, him and all his split personalities, I thought.

Gazzy: "What does that mean?" (points to metal plaque warning to stay off the third rail that said Stay off the third rail!) Fang: "It means the third rail has seven hundred volts of direct current running through it. Touch it and you're human popcorn.

I muttered a swear word to myself. After I heard Angel cussing like a sailor when she stubbed her toe, my new resolution was to watch my language. All I needed was a six-year-old mutant with a potty mouth

Nudge: You aren't dead. Iggy (irritably): No. You aren't dead either. How about just 'hello'?

There's nothing more annoying than cold logic and reason when you've got a good fit going.

Some kids get called 'bundles of joy' or 'slices of heaven' or 'dreams come true.' We got 'the fifty-fourth generation of DNA experiments.' Doesn't have the same warm and fuzzy feel. But maybe I'm oversensitive.

Excellent. They were flammable.

Can you giggle while racing for your life and protecting a six-year-old? I can.

Why was the blind guy playing with matches, you ask? Because he's good at it. Anything to do with fire, igniting things, exploding things, things with fuses, wicks, accelerants . . . Iggy's your man. It's one of those good/bad things.

Do we have any chlorine? It seems to be kind of explosive when mixed with other stuff." "Like what, your socks? No, we don't have chlorine. No swimming pool.

Max!' Nudge cried, rushing over to hug me. Her thin arms gripped me tight, and I hugged her back, scratching her wings where they joined her shoulders, the way she liked. 'We were so worried—I didn’t know what had happened to you, and we didn’t know what to do, and Fang said we going to eat rats, and—' 'Okay, okay. Everything’s okay,' I told her. I met Fang’s eyes over her shoulder and mouthed rats? silently. A flicker of a grin crossed his lips and then was gone.

Frustration was my constant companion. I wanted to scream. "What the he-eck are we supposed to do now? I asked Fang. He looked at me, and I could tell he was mulling over the problem. He held out a small waxed-paper bag. Peanut?

Is this a movie?' I heard someone ask. Naw- this is too original for Hollywood. They do sequels.

Jeb: I wish I could explain what I'd give just to see you smile again. Max (thinking): How about your head on a stick?

Fang was going to kill me. And after I was dead, he would kill me again.

I have an idea. It’s risky, and Max will kill us when she finds out.” Iggy raised his head. “Sounds like my kind of idea.

Jeb: But I need to tell you something first. Max (thinking): That you are the devil incarnate?

I want to be able to see stuff," Iggy said. "Like I used to, when I was little. And I want to be able to totally kick Jeb's butt.

Fang snorted in disbelief. "On one hand, we have a mythical nice family that wants to adopt me. On the other, we have a gang of insane scientists desperate to do genetic experiments on innocent children. Guess which hand I get dealt?

I led the way toward the crowd, trying to look casual, like, Fly? Me? Nah.

It was the building from the drawing in my brain. And if you don’t think that’s a weird sentence, maybe you should reread it.

When are you going to trust me Max?" asked Fang. "When I go completely bonkers," I laughed.

Don’t be afraid.” “I hear voices,” Iggy said. “Be very afraid.

Did I want a dog? No. Did I need a dog? Also no. We were six kids running for our lives, not knowing where our next meal was coming from. Could we afford to feed a dog? Wait for it—no.

Sometimes he seems like a droid--or a drone. Fang of Nine. Fang2-D2.

I shot him the bird. (Get it? I shot him the—never mind.)

Fang and I searched in every way we could think of and found a million institutes of one kind or another, in Manhattan and throughout New York state, but none of them seemed promising. My favorite? The Institute for Realizing Your Pet's Inner Potential. Anyone who can explain that to me, drop a line.

Max?” said the Gasman. “Are those, um, rats?” Lovely. “Yes, those do appear to be either rats or mice on steroids,” I said briskly, trying not to shriek and climb the walls like a girly-girl.

Jeez, was that a lion? Please tell me it’s behind bars.” “It’s a zoo, Iggy,” Nudge said, taking his arms and leading him. “Everything’s behind bars.

We probably looked like starving orphan children. Hey! We were starving orphan children.

Maybe it's information the whitecoats never wanted anyone to figure out.' Fang said in the hollow Twilight Zone-y voice he used sometimes when things got unusually weird- as opposed to regular weird.

Call me crazy, but there's just something cheering about seeing huge raptors tear into Eraser flesh.

Max-Dogs, dogs, go away, let me live another day.

I stared at her in amazement. "How do you even live with yourself?"..."You're willing to sell children to a foreign government so they can be used as weapons, possibly against other Americans. I don't get it. Were you hiding behind a door on morals and ethics day?...You couldn't mother someone if they shot five gallons of estrogen into your veins.

Iggy’s spine tightened, his face like ice. When he’d been at the School, they’d tried to surgically enhance his night vision. Now he was blind forever. Oops.

Just for fun I flew in huge banking arcs, taking deep breaths, enjoying the feel of my newly weightless hair. The stylist had called it “wind tossed.” If only she knew.

Is it important to be right or is it important to do what’s right? That’s one of the hardest lessons to learn.

I couldn’t leave Total behind.” “Total?” Iggy asked. “That’s what his card said,” Angel explained. “Totally a mutant dog who will probably turn on us and kill us in our sleep,” Fang said.

Iggy: So what are we going to do? Yeah leader, lead.

You really hurt me. I wouldn't hurt you. Not like this.

It’s, like, a safety bomb.” -Iggy

When did they start coming after you?” “Was it—was it after the oil- slick Hummer crash?” the Gasman asked Iggy tentatively. My eyes widened. Oil-slick Hummer crash? Iggy rubbed his chin, thinking. “Or maybe it was more---after the bomb,” the Gasman said in a low voice, looking down. “I think it was the bomb,” Iggy agreed. “That definitely seemed to tick them off.” “Bomb?” I asked incredulously.

A vet! I started laughing weakly and had to sit on the edge of the tub. A vet. Wait till they found out how appropriate that was.

The receptionist looked us over, then went back to typing something incredibly urgent—like her résumé́ for another job.

Angel wanted them all to burn in h-e- double toothpicks forever.

Veins practically popping out of his neck, the jerk leaned out his window and yelled a bunch of swear words, including a new one I tucked away in my brain for future use, if necessary.

Angel: What's sauerkraut? Max: You don't want it. Trust me.

Another day. Get up and face it.

I love Nudge, Nudge is a great kid, but that motormouth of hers could have turned Mother Teresa into an ax murderer

You have a memory chip that small implanted in you,” he verified. I nodded, guessing this was somewhat worse than having cooties.

Iggy. This is not a democracy," I said,(...)"It's a Maxocracy.

It gets so tiring, this strong-picking-on-the-weak stuff. It was the story of my life -literally- and it seemed to be a big part of the outside world too. I was sick of it, sick of guys like these, stupid and bullying.

Maybe he was a good a good whitecoat—like Jeb. And maybe the moon was made of cream cheese.

The next morning-at least, I assumed it was morning, since we were all waking up- I felt like one of those twelve dancing princesses, who danced all night, wore holes in their shoes, and had to sleep it off the next day. Except, oh yeah: a)I'm not a princess; b)sleeping in a subway tunnel and having another brain attack aren't that much like dancing all night; and c) my combat boots were still in good shape. Other than that, it was exactly the same.

That's more than three questions, Max. And sometimes wheter someone is your friend or enemy is all in how you look at it. But if you must know, I consider myself your friend, a good friend who loves you very much. No one Loves you more than I do, Maximum. Now listen. I ask the questions here, not you. You're just here for the ride. For the incredible, indescribable Maximum Ride.

You are a fridge with wings. We're freaking ballet dancers.

I still felt like I might hurl, and I thought about how awful that would be in midair.

Knowledge is a terrible burden. It may help you, but it might also destroy you.

Max-I'm not going to die today.

Fang. I had to do some thinking about him. Me. I had some thinking to do about me too.

Congratulations. The fact that you're reading this means you've taken one giant step closer to surviving until your next birthday.

I want to know about my mom. And other stuff. I want to know the whole story, good or bad.” “Me, too,” said Gazzy. “I want to find my parents so I can tell’m what total scuzzes they are. Like, ‘Hi, mom and dad, you’re such scum!

I want to be a scientist who studies the ocean when I grow up. I would go out to sea, and scuba dive, and find new things, and National Geographic will hire me.” Sure, Nudge. Probably around the time I become president.

I gave him a kick and he stepped back onto the third rail. Exploding, flaming eraser! This is why moms tell you to stay away from the third rail, but it sure came in handy this time.

Plus her mom was so awesome. She was strict about some things—don’t leave your socks lying around—but so not strict about other things, like calling the cops about my bullet wound.

I just wish I could walk into my Senator’s office and say, “Senator Dude, Um, we have a problem with these sicko scientists…” But then again, I don’t think we have a Senator, do we? Is there a state where mutant freaks are represented? If so, let me know.

I flipped down the visor so I could check myself in the mirror, and something small and heavy dropped into my lap. I froze, my breath stuck in my throat. What—? Gingerly, I looked down. It wasn’t a grenade. It was a key ring. One key was for this van. I looked at it blankly. “Well, that’ll simplify things,” Fang said.

My choices were to either give in and let them kill all of us or fight back with everything I had. I chose the second one, ’cause I’m just funny that way.

It’s wherever you are. If it’s tapped into any of your senses, it knows where you are and what you’re doing.” Oh no, I thought, my spirits sinking. I hadn’t considered that. Did that mean nothing I did was ever anymore? “Even in the bathroom?” the Gasman’s eyes widened with surprise.

When I wanted information, it was silent; when I didn't want to hear from it, it got chatty. It was alost as irritating as Fang.

Iggy nodded. “I’m bummed we couldn’t use Big Boy,” he said. “But I don’t want to waste it. We have to actually see them first. I mean, you do.” “Maybe tomorrow,” the Gasman said encouragingly. “We’ll go see what havoc we’ve wreaked.” “Wrought.

Gazzy: "What does that mean?" (points to metal plaque warning to stay off the third rail that said Stay off the third rail!) Fang: "It means the third rail has seven hundred volts of direct current running through it. Touch it and you're human popcorn." “Okay,” I said. “Good tip. Everyone stay off the third rail. Then I shot Fang a look that said, Thank you for that lovely image. He almost grinned at me.

I won’t lie to you—it was hilarious. Yes, we were in trouble, yes, this was a disaster, and so one and so forth, but I have to say, seeing those upturned faces, the looks, was bout the best thing that happened to us since we’d come to New York.

Part 5 The Voice- Make that my voice

Jeezum—humans were like eggshells.

Even needing to get to Angel, we couldn’t forget the basic necessity of eating.

It's always refreshing to meet someone crazier than us," I said. "We seem so normal afterward.

Some people just don't have what it takes to appreciate a cookie.

It's okay, Ig." said Fang. "Just give it your best shot." Sometimes the Fangster is incredibly supportive, just not with me.

My, g**, he was as strong as a team of oxen. That would be strong right?

I want my room to smell just like this." Iggy inhaled deeply as the scents flame-broiled burgers and hot french fries wafted around us. 'it would be an improvement.' I agreed.

I don't know about the rest of you who have little voices, but something about mine made me feel completely compelled to listen to it.

Why aren't crazy people content to take over, like, one town? It always has to be the whole word. They can't just control maybe twenty people. The have to control everyone. The can't just be stinking rich. The can't just do genetic experiments on a couple unlucky few. They have to put something in the water. In the air. To get everyone. I was tired of all of it.

This is not a democracy," I said, understanding he fear but unable to do anything about it. "It's a Maxocracy.

What?" I said, suspicion starting to rise in me. "When did they start coming after you?" "Was it— was it after the oil-slick Hummer crash?" the Gasman asked Iggy tentatively. My eyes widened. Oil-slick Hummer crash? Iggy rubbed his chin, thinking. "Or maybe it was more— after the bomb," the Gasman said in a low voice, looking down. "I think it was the bomb," Iggy agreed. "That definitely seemed to tick them off.

The eraser

But if I could do anything? Maybe you would want to be able to save the world, the Voice said. Did you ever think of that? No. I frowned. Leave that to the grown-ups. But grown-ups are the ones destroying the world, the Voice said. Think about it.

We'll, that's an evil smile..." Like

Dear God," said Nudge under her breath, "I want real parents. But I want them to want me too. I want them to love me. I already love them. Please see what you can do. Thanks very much. Love, Nudge." Okay, so I'm not saying we were pros at this or anything. (Max thoughts)

Max—you have a bigger mission than finding the flock's parents. Focus on helping the whole world, not just your friends. I held my wings steady, coasting for a long, long way on a warm updraft. It was like floating on a cloud, the best feeling you can imagine. I wish you could try it with me. Maybe next time. You know, Voice, I thought finally, my friends are my world.

Life is a test. It’s all a test. Sometimes you have to get through it, and then later everything makes more sense.

A Poem By Maximum Ride How does one describe freedom, How can one call themselves free, How does one sleep at night knowing all the troubles that lay ahead, If one had a choice to be free or have freedom what does one pick, How does one even begin to describe the choices of being free, Freedom is choice, Freedom is happiness, Freedom is doing what you want, Freedom is to fly.

We'll, that's an evil smile...

Every journey begins with one step.

Basically, if you put a fence around New York City, you’d have the world’s biggest nontraveling circus.

I called for back up,” Nudge said. “The police, fire department, paramedics, and a few different pizza delivery places are all on their way.

Fang is not the huggiest person in the world—he turns into an unbending statue, and you just have to do the best you can. Which

You aren’t dead,” she said. “No. You aren’t dead either,” said Iggy irritably. “How about just ‘hello’?

A flow of heroically suppressed swear words ran through my brain.

Congratulations. The fact that you’re reading this means you’ve taken one giant step closer to surviving till your next birthday. Yes, you, standing there leafing through these pages. Do not put this book down. I’m dead serious—your life could depend on it.

The Gasman leaned over and examined the tangled pile of stereo guts spread out on the kitchen table. “It looks like a robot came in here and threw up,” he observed

Fortunately, we could all see pretty well in the dark. Especially Iggy.

Attempting to drive a car before you find and release the parking brake is like trying to drag a Saint Bernard into a bathtub. But

Our goal is to find the Institute.” “How are we gonna do that?” Angel asked. “I have a plan,” I said firmly. God, I was really going to have to get all this lying under control.

Blow up demonic Erasers

Make firebombs—for our protection only.

SCHOOL—WHAT COULD BE SCARIER THAN THAT?

I wish I could explain what I’d give just to see you smile again.” How about your head on a stick?

Call me crazy, but there’s just something cheering about seeing huge raptors tear into Eraser flesh.

In movies, people always “borrow” cars by yanking some wires out from under the dash and connecting them. But the real way it works involves a screwdriver and the starter thingy, under the hood. My personal ethics prevent me from giving you more information. That’d be just what I need: a rash of car thefts across America, committed by dedicated readers.

The thing is, Max,” he said, tons of heart-wringing emotion in his eyes, “you’re even more special than I always told you. You see, you were created for a reason. Kept alive for a purpose, a special purpose.” You mean besides seeing how well insane scientists could graft avian DNA into a human egg? He took a breath, looking deep into my eyes. I coldly shut down every good memory I had of him, every laugh we’d shared, every happy moment, every thought that he was like a dad to me. “Max, that reason, that purpose is: You are supposed to save the world.” 62 Okay, I couldn’t help it. My jaw dropped open. I shut it again quickly. Well. This would certainly give weight to my ongoing struggle to have the bathroom first in the morning.

Nothing. My heart sank down into my stomach.

string of orange words, fail, fail, fail, scrolled across the screen before it finally went black and winked out.

Iggy said. “Be very afraid.

Popcorn for breakfast! Why not? It’s a grain. It’s like, like, grits, but with high self-esteem.

I said briskly, trying not to shriek and climb the walls like a girly-girl.

The End Is Near!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Some kids get called “bundles of joy” or “slices of heaven” or “dreams come true.” We got “the fifty-fourth generation of DNA experiments.” Doesn’t have the same warm and fuzzy feel. But maybe I’m oversensitive.

The Institute for Realizing Your Pet’s Inner Potential. Anyone who can explain that to me, drop a line.

The low voice, smooth and full of menace, woke me from sleep that night. My body tightened like a longbow and I tried to jump up, only to be held down by a big booted foot on my throat.

Ari shook Celeste playfully, and Angel stepped forward.

Almost faster than my eyes could follow, Angel snatched Celeste and leaped back up into the tree.

WARNING If you dare to read this story, you become part of the Experiment. I know that sounds a little mysterious – but it’s all I can say right now.

The thing is, the “scientists” back at the School had been playing with risky stuff, combining human and nonhuman DNA. Basically, the spliced genes started to unravel after a while, and the organisms tended to, well, self-destruct. The flock and I had seen it happen a million times: The rabbit-dog combo had been such bad news. Same with the sheep-macaque monkey splice. The mouse-cat experiment had produced a huge, hostile mouse with great balance and an inability to digest either

Iggy’s spine tightened, his face like ice. When he’d been at the School, they’d tried to surgically enhance his night vision. Now he was blind forever. Oops.

Fang pondered. It always amazes me how he’s able to seem so calm at the absolute worst times. Sometimes he seems like a droid—or a drone. Fang of Nine. Fang2-D2.

It sounds like you sort of made that woman buy you the bear—” “Celeste.” “Celeste, whether she wanted to or not. Do you see what I’m saying?

I could barely move my left arm, and it hurt like fire. I tried to stretch out my wing, only to suck my breath in hard as I found out it had been hit too. I couldn’t see it well over my shoulder, but my big clue was the screaming pain. I was scraped all over, had lost my windbreaker, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, I was sitting in a patch of poison ivy.

Angel felt their admiration, their crummy pleasure. They liked all the things wrong with her, all the ways she wasn’t normal. And all those stupid long words added up to one thing: Angel was an experiment. To the whitecoats, she was a piece of science equipment, like a test tube. She was an it.

I saw it on an X-ray.” He stared at me with horror in his eyes. He turned off his laptop and closed the lid. “You have a memory chip that small implanted in you,” he verified. I nodded, guessing this was somewhat worse than having cooties.

I heard a horrible, stomach-turning crack that vibrated up my arms. Ari and I stared at each other in shock. “You really hurt me,” he gasped rawly, terrible surprise in his voice. “I wouldn’t hurt you. Not like this.” Then his head flopped down, and Ari went totally limp. His

Remember what I said at the very beginning? Now, I’m giving you a choice: You can put the book down now— but you’ll just have some of the story. Look other places for more of it. Dig even deeper, and you could become part of it. The web of answers is out there. If you can find the portal. Be careful. And don’t say I didn’t warn you. Max

A Tale of Two Parking Requirements The impact of parking requirements becomes clearer when we compare the parking requirements of San Francisco and Los Angeles. San Francisco limits off-street parking, while LA requires it. Take, for example, the different parking requirements for concert halls. For a downtown concert hall, Los Angeles requires, as a minimum, fifty times more parking than San Francisco allows as its maximum. Thus the San Francisco Symphony built its home, Louise Davies Hall, without a parking garage, while Disney Hall, the new home of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, did not open until seven years after its parking garage was built. Disney Hall's six-level, 2,188-space underground garage cost $110 million to build (about $50,000 per space). Financially troubled Los Angeles County, which built the garage, went into debt to finance it, expecting that parking revenues would repay the borrowed money. But the garage was completed in 1996, and Disney Hall—which suffered from a budget less grand than its vision—became knotted in delays and didn't open until late 2003. During the seven years in between, parking revenue fell far short of debt payments (few people park in an underground structure if there is nothing above it) and the county, by that point nearly bankrupt, had to subsidize the garage even as it laid employees off. The money spent on parking shifted Disney Hall's design toward drivers and away from pedestrians. The presence of a six-story subterranean garage means most concert patrons arrive from underneath the hall, rather than from the sidewalk. The hall's designers clearly understood this, and so while the hall has a fairly impressive street entrance, its more magisterial gateway is an "escalator cascade" that flows up from the parking structure and ends in the foyer. This has profound implications for street life. A concertgoer can now drive to Disney Hall, park beneath it, ride up into it, see a show, and then reverse the whole process—and never set foot on a sidewalk in downtown LA. The full experience of an iconic Los Angeles building begins and ends in its parking garage, not in the city itself. Visitors to downtown San Francisco have a different experience. When a concert or theater performance lets out in San Francisco, people stream onto the sidewalks, strolling past the restaurants, bars, bookstores, and flower shops that are open and well-lit. For those who have driven, it is a long walk to the car, which is probably in a public facility unattached to any specific restaurant or shop. The presence of open shops and people on the street encourages other people to be out as well. People want to be on streets with other people on them, and they avoid streets that are empty, because empty streets are eerie and menacing at night. Although the absence of parking requirements does not guarantee a vibrant area, their presence certainly inhibits it. "The more downtown is broken up and interspersed with parking lots and garages," Jane Jacobs argued in 1961, "the duller and deader it becomes ... and there is nothing more repellent than a dead downtown.

turned to watch the hawk he’d pointed out. “Yeah,

Amazingly, she was trying to act casual, like, oh, okay, you have a wing. No biggie.

Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment