Reached Ally Condie Quotes

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

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.

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

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

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.

Words mean what you want them to mean.

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

When we fall in love the first time, we don’t know anything. We risk a lot less than we do if we choose to love again. (Xander)

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.

It's nice, isn't it... to be part of something greater than yourself.

And it strikes me that this is how writing anything is, really. A collaboration between you who give the words and they who take them and find meaning in them, or put music behind them, or turn them aside because they were not what was needed.

I know how it feels when people look right through you, or worse, see you as something or someone other than what you are.

Which goes to show that caring about anyone leaves you vulnerable.

Do you think you could let someone go if you thought it was best for them?

Sometimes paper is just paper, words are just words. Ways to capture the real thing. Don't be afraid to remember that.

Some people think the stars must look closer from up here. They don't. When you're up here, you realize how distant they really are—how impossible to reach.

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.

Of course, one person can be the world.

Things happen whether you deserve them or not

Long ago people used to say what they wanted out loud and hope that someone would give it to them. They called it praying.

When you can’t cry because all you are is pain, and if you let some of it out, you might cease to exist.

The earth reflects the sky and the sky meets the earth and, every now and then, if we’re lucky, we have a moment to see how small we are.

I have a sense that we have not yet arrived, that we are still reaching. For each other. For who we are meant to be.

Newrose, Oldrose, Quean Anne's lace. Water, river, stone and sun Wind over hill, under tree. Past the border none can see. Climbing into dark for you, Will you climb in stars for me? P.124

For a moment, I’m a part of it all. Then I’m just apart.

You don’t usually get to choose the measure of suffering or the degree of joy you have. (Ky Markham)

It’s all right to wonder

I know you love me. I love you, I always will, but things can't hold like this. They have to break. You say you don't mind, that you will wait for me, but I think that you do mind, and you should. Because we've done too much waiting in our lives, Xander. Don't wait for me anymore. I hope for love for you. I hope for this more than anything else, maybe even more than my own happiness. And in a way, perhaps that means I love Xander best of all.

It’s not exactly easy to save things for the future when the present is so uncertain. (Xander)

But he is as we all are: light as air, transient as wisps of cloud before the sun, beautiful and fleeting, and if I ever did truly have hold of him, that has ended now.

There is satisfaction in knowing that something good and right and true was part of you. That you had the blessing, gift, good fortune, perfect luck, to know someone like this, to pass through fire and water and stone and sky together and emerge, all of you, strong enough to hold on, strong enough to let go. (Cassia)

Inside me are the real things that give me strength—my thoughts, the small stones of my own choosing. They tumble in my mind, some polished from frequent turning, some new and rough, some that cut.

There is something extraordinary about the first time falling.

For we are all walking each other to our deaths, and the journey between footsteps makes up our lives(Cassia 'Reached')

When we fall in love the first time, we don't know anything. We risk a lot less than we do if we choose to love again. There is something extraordinary about the first time falling.

I could write stories; I could hide from the world and make my own instead of trying to change it or live in it. I could make paper people and I would love them too; I could make them almost real.

When things like this happen—when what was meant to help results in harm, when a salve brings pain instead of healing—it is clear how wrong even choices intended to be right can become.

Death will not take the people I love. Our journey will end differently.

For a moment nothing happens. The figure stands still and I stand cold and alive and- He starts to run. I make my way down the rocks, slipping, sliding, trying to get to the plain. I wish, I think, my feet clumsy, moving too fast, not fast enough, I wish i could run, I wish I'd written a whole poem, I wish I kept the compass- And then I reach the plain and wish for nothing but what I have. Ky. Running toward me. I have never seen him run like this, fast, free, strong, wild. He looks so beautiful, his body moves so right. He stops just close enough for me to see the blue of his eyes and forget the red on my hands and the green I wish I wore. "You're here," he says, breathing hard and hungry. sweat and dirt cover his face, and he looks at me as though I'm the only thing he ever needed to see. I open my mouth to say yes. But I only have time to breathe in before he closes the last of the distance. All I know is the kiss.

There are many of them in the world, I think, good men and women with their frail deeds. Wondering what might have been, how things might have danced, if we had only dared to be bright.

She cried before she slept. I reached out to touch the ends of her hair. She didn't notice. I didn't know what to do. Listening to her made me ache. I felt tears stream down my face too. And when I accidentally brushed Eli with my arm his face was wet where his tears ran down. We have all been carved out by our sorrow. Cut deep like canyon walls.

But I also know we can’t plan on anyone else rescuing us. We have to do it ourselves.

I draw in a ragged breath, the kind you take when the pain is too deep to cry, when you can't cry because all you are is pain, and if you let some of it out, you might cease to exist.

I love you," she whispers. "I love you," I say back. I choose her again and again and again until the pilot interrupts us and it's time to fly.

You cannot change your journey if you are unwilling to move at all. P.232

But i must count this journey, all For it has brought me Thee.

Some people think the stars must look closer from up here. They don't. When you're up here, you realize how distant they really are--how impossible to reach.

A little surge of bitterness goes through me like someone's shot it right into my veins with a syringe. But I know how to get over the feeling: remember that it doesn't do any good.

It's good to know that Xander's here. So that when I go down, she won't be alone. "You walked through the Carving to find me," I tell Cassia softly. "I'm going to walk through this to reach you.

I imagine giving someone such a gift and then having it returned. Parents are always giving things that are not taken.

Some things will remain valuable no matter who is in charge

We are the ones who are alive. Here. With everything to lose

Because if you can't dream you can't pretend that he's still there

Right then I knew we were feeling the same thing. I knew we loved Cassia, if not exactly the same way, then the same amount. And the amount was: completely.

The pain wants to eat me away. 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.

There’s got to be some light in a corner somewhere.

It's raining. So I should remember. Something. Someone. The water is gathering inside of me. Who do I remember? I don't know. I'm drowning. I remember to breathe. I remember to breathe. I remember. I.

Caring about anyone leaves you vulnerable.

In some ways, our being Matched is the biggest strike against me. How was she supposed to love me when the Society said she should?

The earth reflects the sky and the sky meets the earth and, every now and then, if we're lucky, we have a moment to see how small we are.

Something in her is still drowning a little from loss.

They’re no rebellion. They’re Society, with a different name,

She's right. We would compose poems about love and tell stories that have been heard in some form before. But it would be our first time feeling and telling.

Climbing into dark for you Will you wait in stars for me?

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

It's not all gone. She loved someone before and so did I. The Society and the Rising and the world are all still out there, pressing against us. But Lei holds them away. She's made enough space for two people to stand up together, whether or not any Society or Rising says that they can. She's done it before. The amazing thing is that she's not afraid to do it again. When we fall in love the first time, we don't know anything. We risk a lot less than we do if we choose to love again. There is something extraordinary about the first time falling. But if feels even better to find myself standing on solid ground, with someone holding on to me, pulling me back, and know that I'm doing the same for her.

Here," I say. "You can put music behind it, and it will be your own." And it strikes me that this is how writing anything is, really. A collaboration between you who give the words and they who take them and find meaning in them, or put music behind them, or turn them aside because they were not what was needed.

I never needed the Society," she says, "to Match me." (-Lei)

Don't wait for me anymore. I hope for love for you. I hope for this more than anything else, maybe even more than my own happiness. And in a way, perhaps that means I love Xander best of all.

She is holding on tight to this talk of flowers, as I did before, when I was afraid and alone. If you sing and speak of blooms and petals that come back after a long time of being winter-still, you don’t have to think about things that don’t.

I can already feel some things slipping through my fingers like sand and water, like artifacts and poems, like everything you want to hold on to and can’t.

And even if you could use the sample to create someone a lot like the original person, it would never be the person themselves. You can’t bring anyone back, ever.

She knows how things fit together and move, but so few people understand her. She’s the most solitary person I’ve ever known.

And I realize that I can never stay in these hollowed-out places in the earth for long before I have to come up for air.

Earth is a giant stone, rolling and turning through the sky. And we’re all on it together. I do believe that.

I wonder if they'll be able to resist. It's not exactly easy to save things for the future when the present is so uncertain.

He says my name, over and over as we move together, until I'm caught in a strange place between weak and strong, between dizziness and clarity and need and satiety and give and take and... "Ky," I say back.

She is not the pilot. I know it now. She reminds me of my Official back in Oria. They both have in common their conviction that they are still learning, still growing, when in fact they have long ago lost that ability.

You told me once," I say to Ky, holding up the bud for him to see and then pressing it into his hand, "that red was the color of beginning." He smiles. The color of beginning. For a moment, a memory flickers in and out. It is a rare moment in spring when both buds on the trees and flowers on the ground are red. The air is cool and at the same time warm. Grandfather watches me, his eyes bright and determined.

She bends down to kiss him, and his trembling hand reaches for hers, but he can't move it far enough yet. So I lift up his hand and put it on hers. I help him to reach her. For a moment, I'm part of it all. Then I'm just apart.

I never needed the Society to Match me.

Was there a stolen touch before he found himself again at the bottom of the hill with the stone to push? Did he smile to himself as he set, again, to rolling it?

I could go above ground now and then to gather food and paper, and isn't that enough to live on?

Reaching and reached. Cassia

Parents are always giving things that are not taken

Perhaps this is what I learned in the canyons: What I am, what I'm not, what I'll give, and what I won't.

It could have been different," I say, almost under my breath. If I'd kissed Indie again after she kissed me. If I hadn't known Cassia before I met Indie. "But it's not," Indie says, and she's right.

Thank you," I tell Xander. "I didn't get anything for you -" "It's all right," he says, "but maybe - you could -" He looks into my eyes and I know what he wants. A kiss. Even thought he knows about Ky. Xander and I are still connected; this is still good-bye. I know already that that kiss would be sweet. It would be what he would hold on to, as I hold on to Ky's. But that's something I don't think I can give. "Xander -" "It's all right," he was, and then he stands up. I do too, and he reaches for me, pulls me close.

I weave the papers through the branches, in a long loop. Up and down, my knees bending. My arms above my head, like the girls I saw once in a painting in a cave. There is a rhythm to this, a keeping of time. I wonder if I'm dancing.

Until now, I've never been able to see while I fly, and I feel a dizzying lightness as I look out at the land below us. Is this what I've missed? The stars have come to the earth, and the ocean has turned over the ground; dark waves meet the sky. They are unmoving, barely visible but for the light of the sun rising behind them. Mountains, I realize. That's what the ocean is. Those waves are peaks. The stars are lights in houses and on streets. The earth reflects the sky and the sky meets the earth and, every now and then, if we're lucky, we have a moment to see how small we are.

Sometimes paper is only paper," my mothers says. "Words are just words. Ways to capture the real thing. Don't be afraid to remember that." I know what she means. 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.

Who knows why that man planted those fields? Perhaps he knew we’d need the flowers for a cure. Maybe he just thought they were beautiful, like my mother did. But we do find answers in beauty, more often than not.

I wanted to run, but I couldn't leave Ky. And I didn't want him to hear the sounds of people trying to save the man, or how Ky's own breathing sounded labored. So I crouched down in front of Ky and covered one of his ears with my shaking hand, and then I leaned right up close to his other ear and I sang to him. I didn't even know I knew how.

It doesn't matter much anyway. I haven't slept well since he left. I can't dream. In some ways, that's the hardest part of having him gone." I understand. "Because if you can't dream you can't pretend that he's still here.

Good-bye,” I say to Grandfather, and to my father, and I hold the tube in the river and pause a moment. We hold the choices of our fathers and mothers in our hands and when we cling on or let them slip between our fingers, those choices become our own.

I put my hands flat on the papers, breathing in, holding on. He touched these too. I turned through the papers, looking at each page. And in that cold metal aisle, alone, I wanted him. I wanted his hands at my back and his lips speaking poems on mine and our journey to each other to be completed, the miles between us consumed and all distance closed.

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.

But I didn't see it. I believed him unchanging, a stone in all good senses of the word, solid, dependable, something and someone you could build upon. But he is as we all are: light as air, transient as wisps of cloud before the sun, beautiful and fleeting, and if I ever did truly have hold of him, that has ended now.

Escalo en la oscuridad por ti. ¿Me esperas tú en las estrellas?" Sí. Y, pase lo que pase, ella me recordará. Ni la Sociedad, ni el Alzamiento ni nadie pueden arrebatarle eso. Han sucedido demasiadas cosas. Y ha transcurrido demasiado tiempo. Sabrá que estuve aquí. Y que la amé. Siempre sabrá eso, a menos que decida olvidarlo.