Maze Runner Teresa Quotes

WICKED is good

Ah, my Knight in Shining Armor. What, you don't think I can fend for myself?

It was her. It was Teresa.

And then they were kissing. Something exploded within his chest burning away the tension and confusion and fear. Burning away the hurt of seconds earlier. For a moment it felt like nothing mattered anymore. Like nothing would matter ever again.

Someday we'll be bigger.

Wonder why we can do this,' he called out with his mind. The mental effort of speaking to her was already straining—he felt a headache forming like a bulge in his brain. 'Maybe we were lovers,' Teresa said. Thomas tripped and crashed to the ground. Smiling sheepishly at Minho, who’d turned to look without slowing, Thomas got back up and caught up to him. 'What?' he finally asked. He sensed a laugh from her, a watery image full of color.

Don't mess with Teresa. If I teach you nothing else in life, it's that. Don't mess with Teresa.

Teresa stood up, surprising Thomas with her confidence. “Guess he forgot to tell the little part about me kicking him in the groin and climbing out the window.” Thomas almost laughed as Newt turned to an older boy standing nearby, whose face had turned bright red. “Congrats, Jeff,” Newt said. “You’re officially the first guy here to get your butt beat by a girl.

I'm so sorry," he whispered to her, knowing she couldn't hear. I'm so sorry." Her mouth moved, working to speak, and he leaned in to make out what she was trying to say. "Me ... too," she whispered. "I only ever ... cared for...

WICKED is good

She means the world to me, and nothing will ever change that.

I like how you call me Tom.” Teresa rolled her eyes. “That’s your name, isn’t it?” “Yeah, but most people call me Thomas. Well, except Newt – he calls me Tommy. Tom makes me feel … like I’m at home or something. Even though I don’t know what home is.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Are we messed up or what?

Teresa handed Thomas a really long knife, almost a sword. He couldn’t imagine where she’d been hiding these things, but she now held a short dagger in addition to her spear.

Don't give up!

Murió para salvarte, dijo Teresa. Fue su elección. No la desperdicies.

Thomas had never heard such arrogance from her. She was either a really good actress or had started going crazy. Gained a split personality or two.

Ella sonrió por primera vez y él casi tuvo que desviar la mirada, como si no tuviera derecho de contemplar su expresión. Pensó que no podía ocurrir algo tan lindo en un lugar tan sombrío y gris.

He finally pulled it all back into his heart, sucking in the painful tide of his misery. In the Glade, Chuck had become a symbol for him—a beacon that somehow they could make everything right again in the world. Sleep in beds. Get kissed goodnight. Have bacon and eggs for breakfast, go to a real school. Be happy. But now Chuck was gone. And his limp body, to which Thomas still clung, seemed a cold talisman—that not only would those dreams of a hopeful future never come to pass, but that life had never been that way in the first place. That even in escape, dreary days lay ahead. A life of sorrow. His returning memories were sketchy at best. But not much good floated in the muck. Thomas reeled in the pain, locked it somewhere deep inside him. He did it for Teresa. For Newt and Minho. Whatever darkness awaited them, they’d be together, and that was all that mattered right then.

The Keeper spotted them and approached at a limping run. Thomas noticed he'd let go of Teresa's hand without thinking about it.

Teresa didn’t stop. “Keep talking like that and you’ll be next.” Newt turned back to face them, but his face showed anything but fear.

I plan to write three words on my arm before entering the Box, hoping that its simple message will plant seed in the Gladers who see it. To remind them, even subconsciously, what it is we fight for. It's a phrase I saw on a cold, dark night long ago, the Crank pits seething behind me. It's a phrase that I believe with all my heart, despite the horrors. I think you know what it is.

Nice to meet you,“ Brenda replied, I’m a Crank. I’m slowly getting crazy. I keep wanting to chew off my own fingers and randomly kill people. Thomas here promised to save me.” Though she was obviously joking, she didn’t even crack a smile. Thomas had to hide a wince. “Funny, Brenda.” “Glad to see you still have a sense of humor about it,” Teresa said. But her face could’ve turned water to ice.

What’s his name?” Teresa asked. Ladena answered in a weary voice as she started walking down the corridor. “They’ve called him Thomas.

Tom, I’m really sorry. I can tell you’re having a hard time forgiving me. Would you be any different? No. I kind of accepted it, in a way. That saving you was worth losing what we might’ve had.

—Todos saben en lo que se están metiendo —Teresa le cogió de la mano—. ¿Recuerdas? No hay nada que perder. Thomas se acordó, pero, por algún motivo, las palabras de Teresa cayeron en saco roto, no le dieron esperanzas. —No hay nada que perder —repitió el chico.

Thomas was baffled by this girl—first the connection he’d felt to her from the very beginning, then the mind-speaking, now this. “Everything about you is weird. You know that, right?” “Judging by your little hiding spot, I’d say you’re not so normal yourself. Like living in the woods, do ya?

I remember remembering,” she muttered, sitting down with a heavy sigh; she pulled her legs up to wrap her arms around her knees. “Feelings. Emotions. Like I have all these shelves in my head, labeled for memories and faces, but they’re empty. As if everything before this is just on the other side of a white curtain. Including you.

-Yo me acuerdo que recordaba -murmuró. Emitió un largo suspiro mientras se sentaba, encogía las piernas y ponía los brazos alrededor de ellas-. Sentimientos. Emociones. Como si tuviera en mi cabeza estantes con etiquetas para los recuerdos y las caras, pero vacíos. Como si todo lo anterior esto se encontrara del otro lado de una cortina blanca. También tú.

Brenda found his hand, squeezed it. Once again, Thomas felt a ridiculous surge of guilt, like he was cheating on Teresa. He couldn’t help that this girl was so touchy-feely.

Maybe it was bad, maybe he was a jerk. But looking at her made him want Teresa back.

Together, Thomas and Teresa watched, and imagined what it must be like.

Thomas and Teresa

Though she was obviously joking, she didn’t even crack a smile. Thomas had to hide a wince. “Funny, Brenda.” “Glad to see you still have a sense of humor about it,” Teresa said. But her face could’ve turned water to ice. Thomas looked down at his watch. Fifty-five minutes left. “I, um, need to talk to Newt.” He turned and quickly walked away before either girl could say anything. He wanted to be as far away from both of them as possible. Newt was sitting on the ground with Frypan and Minho, all three looking as if they were waiting for the end of the world.

Leavitt appeared, looming over him, a syringe in his hand. “I thought we’d come to an understanding, son. I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to do this.” He knelt down and stuck the needle in Thomas’s neck, compressed the syringe with his thumb. Before he passed out, Thomas looked at Teresa again, their eyes meeting for just a few precious seconds. The world had already started to blur when they dragged her away, but he clearly heard what she called out to him. “Someday we’ll be bigger.” —

I'm so sorry," he whispered to her, knowing she couldn't hear. "I'm so sorry." Her mouth moved, working to speak, and he leaned in to make out what she was trying to say. "Me...too," she whispered. "i only ever... cared for..." And then Thomas was being dragged away from her. He didn't have the energy or will to fight it. She was gone.

Thomas thought about how he’d always felt a connection to her, ever since she arrived in the Glade. He wanted to dig a little more and see what she said: -What are you talking about? -Wish I knew. I’m just trying to bounce ideas off you to see if it sparks anything in your mind.

He felt another tremor of emotion as he saw the faces of Chuck and Newt and Teresa in his mind’s eye. A

Teresa didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around Thomas’s neck, pulling him in. He didn’t have enough will to resist. They kissed, but nothing stirred inside Thomas. He felt nothing.

Are you guys done up there?” Aris yelled, still facing the other direction. “Yes!” Teresa called back. “And don’t expect me to ever kiss you on the cheek again. I think my lips have a fungus now.

Well, you’ve probably figured it out, but all of that was an act. Kind of a prepper to give you some false security. She even told us they somehow … controlled her long enough to make her kiss you. Is that true?” Thomas stopped walking, bent down and put his hands on his knees. Something had sucked the breath right out of him. That was it. He’d officially and completely lost any trace of doubt. Teresa had turned against him. Or maybe she had never really been on his side.

They were the ones who’d saved him! And now they were just going to gas him to death? He sat up, actually crying out from the jolt of pain it caused. He looked around, looked for anything he might be able to … Tired. So tired. Something in his chest felt wrong. Sick. The gas. Tired. Hurt. Body exhausted. Breathing in gas. Couldn’t help himself. So … tired … Inside him. Wrong. Teresa. Why did it have to end that way? Tired … Somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, he was aware of his head thumping against the floor.

Minho had gotten to his feet, and he came over to help Thomas stand. “My shuck brain can’t spend one more second thinking. Just let her do whatever she wants. Come one.” “Good that,” Thomas said. The two of them then looked at each other for a long moment, catching their breath, somehow reliving in those few seconds all the things they’d gone through, all the death, all the pain. And mixed in there was relief, that maybe – just maybe – it was all over. But mostly Thomas felt the pain of loss. Watching Teresa die – to save his life – had been almost too much to bear. Now, staring at the person who’d become his true best friend, he had to fight back the tears. In that moment, he swore to never tell Minho about what he’d done to Newt. “Good that for sure, shuck-face,” Minho finally replied. But his trademark smirk was missing. Instead was a look that said to Thomas he understood. And that they’d both carry the sorrow of their loss for the rest of their lives.

A splintering, shattering noise split the air so loudly that Thomas looked back. His eyes drifted upward, where a massive section of the ceiling had torn loose. He watched, hypnotized, as it fell toward him. Teresa appeared in the corner of his vision, her image barely discernible through the clogged air. Her body slammed into his, shoving him toward the maintenance room. His mind emptied as he stumbled backward and fell, just as the huge piece of the building landed on top of Teresa, pinning her body; only her head and an arm jutted out from under its girth.

We’re either gonna be fighting Grievers or we need to get inside those big coffins at the right time. Maybe they’re the—” A sharp hiss cut through the air from all directions. The sound pierced Thomas’s eardrums and he clamped his hands to the sides of his head again. Movement on the perimeter surrounding them caught his attention, and he watched carefully what was happening with the large white pods. A line of dark blue light had appeared on one side of each container, then expanded as the top half of the object began to move upward, opening on hinges like the lid of a coffin. It made no sound, at least not enough to be heard over the rushing wind and rumbling thunder. Thomas sensed the Gladers and the others slowly moving closer together, forming a tighter knot. Everyone was trying to get as far away from the pods as possible—and soon they were a coiled pack of bodies encircled by the thirty or so rounded white containers. The lids continued moving until they’d all swung open and dropped to the ground. Something bulky rested inside each vessel. Thomas couldn’t make out much, but from where he stood he couldn’t see anything like the odd appendages of the Grievers. Nothing moved, but he knew not to let his guard down. Teresa? he said to her mind. He didn’t dare try talking loudly enough to be heard—but he had to talk to someone or go nuts. Yeah? Someone should go take a look. See what’s in it. He said it, but he really didn’t want to be the one to do it. Let’s go together, she said easily. She surprised him with her courage. Sometimes you have the worst ideas, he responded. He’d tried to make it feel sarcastic, but he knew the truth of it far more than he wanted to admit to himself. He was terrified. “Thomas!” Minho called. The wind, still wild, was drowned out by the approaching thunder and lightning now, cracking