Theodore Finch Quotes

You saved my life. Why couldn't I save yours?

I’d like to live in a world designed by Theodore Finch.

Theodore Finch - I was alive.I burned brightly.And then I died,but not really.Because someone like me cannot,will not,die like everyone else.I linger like the legends of the Blue Hole.I will always be here,in the offerings and people I left behind.

People like Theodore Finch don't die.He's just wandering.

Theodore Finch, April 3. “Today is your day. You’re off to Great Places! You’re off and away!

I walk through the black Indiana night, under a ceiling of stars, and think about the phrase "elegance and euphoria," and how it describes exactly what I feel with Violet. For once, I don't want to be anyone but Theodore Finch, the boy she sees. He understands what it is to be elegant and euphoric and a hundered different people most of them flawed and stupid, part asshole, part screwup, part freak, a boy who wants to be easy for the folks around him so that he doesn't worry them and, most of all, easy for himself. A boy who belongs - here in the world, here in his own skin. He is exactly who I want to be and what I want my epitaph to say: The Boy Violet Markey Loves.

Finch: Theodore Finch, in search of the Great Manifesto Violet: I don't know that what means Finch: It means 'the urge to be, to count for something, and, if death must come, to die valiantly, with acclamation - in short, to remain a memory.

Never bullshit a bullshitter.

For a minute, I can feel it: the sense of peace as my mind goes quiet, like I'm already dead. I am weightless and free. Nothing and no one to fear, not even myself.

If anyone can make it to another world, it’s Theodore Finch.

In case you haven't noticed, we're already involved, Finch. And in case you haven't noticed, I'm broken too.

I’m trying out Theodore Finche, ‘80s kid, and seeing how he fits. I fish through my desk for a cigarette, stick it in my mouth, and remember as I’m reaching for my lighter that Theodore Finch, ‘80s kid, doesn’t smoke. God, I hate him, the clean-cut, eager little prick.

Lovely is a lovely word that should be used more often.

Theodore Finch leans against an SUV, hands in pockets, like he has all the time in the world and he expects me. I think of the Virginia Woolf lines, the ones from The Waves: “Pale, with dark hair, the one who is coming is melancholy, romantic. And I am arch and fluent and capricious; for he is melancholy, he is romantic. He is here.

I think this is the ugliest place I’ve ever seen. Not just here. The whole state.” I hear my parents telling me not to be negative, which is funny because I’ve always been the happy one. It’s Eleanor who was moody. “I used to think that. But then I realized, believe it or not, it’s actually beautiful to some people. It must be, because enough people live here, and they can’t all think it’s ugly.” He smiles out at the ugly trees and the ugly farmland and the ugly kids as if he can see Oz. As if he can really, truly see the beauty that’s there. In that moment I wish I could see it through his eyes.

You make me happy... You make me special... You make me lovely...

I Am In Pieces

Sometimes things feel true to us, even if they're not.

Positive ones go on the wall, negative on the floor over there. He points to this heap of paper. It's important to get those down but they don't need to stick around after you do

As he talks, I lie back against the ground, the blanket wrapped around me, and say to the sky, "May your eye go to the Sun, To the wind your soul, You are all the colors in one, at full brightness.

Theodore Finch—I was alive. I burned brightly. And then I died, but not really. Because someone like me cannot, will not, die like everyone else. I linger like the legends of the Blue Hole. I will always be here, in the offerings and people I left behind.

Sometimes, things feel true to us, even if they're not.

I can't wait. I thought i could, but i can't. Sorry

For once, I don’t want to be anyone but Theodore Finch, the boy she sees. He understands what it is to be elegant and euphoric and a hundred different people, most of them flawed and stupid, part asshole, part screwup, part freak, a boy who wants to be easy for the folks around him so that he doesn’t worry them and, most of all, easy for himself. A boy who belongs—here in the world, here in his own skin. He is exactly who I want to be and what I want my epitaph to say: The Boy Violet Markey Loves.

Not here. Not now

Theodore Finch—only he’s different. For one thing, he’s wearing a ratty red knit cap, loose black sweater, jeans, sneakers, and these fingerless black gloves.

Exactly what I feel with Violet. For once, I don’t want to be anyone but Theodore Finch, the boy she sees. He understands what it is to be elegant and euphoric and a hundred different people, most of them flawed and stupid, part asshole, part screwup, part freak, a boy who wants to be easy for the folks around him so that he doesn’t worry them and, most of all, easy for himself. A boy who belongs—here in the world, here in his own skin. He is exactly who I want to be and what I want my epitaph to say: The Boy Violet Markey Loves.

Lovely' is a lovely word that should be used more often.

Theodore Finch, in search of the Great Manifesto.” “I don’t know what that means.” “It means ‘the urge to be, to count for something, and, if death must come, to die valiantly, with acclamation – in short, to remain a memory.

Nisandan beri içimde hep aynı his vardı; sanki bir şeyi bekliyordum. Ama beklediğim şeyin ne olduğuna dair hiçbir fikrim yoktu.

But I bring it up to let you know that this is the way I feel right now. Like Jupiter are aligned with the earth and i'm floating.

-Cara, por que você faz isso? -Porque todos vamos morrer um dia. Eu só quero estar preparado. Esse não é o motivo, claro, mas a explicação foi suficiente pra ele. A verdade é que existem muitos motivos, que mudam diariamente [...]

From all enchanted things of earth and air, this preciousness has been drawn. From the south wind that breathed a century and a half over the green wheat; from the perfume of the growing grasses waving over heavy-laden clover and laughing veronica, hiding the green finches, baffling the bee; from rose-lined hedge, woodbine, and cornflower, azure blue, where yellowing wheat stalks crowd up under the shadow of green firs. All the devious brooklets’ sweetness where the iris stays the sunlight; all the wild woods hold of beauty; all the broad hills of thyme and freedom thrice a hundred years repeated. “A hundred years of cowslips, bluebells, violets; purple spring and golden autumn; sunshine, shower, and dewy mornings; the night immortal; all the rhythm of time unrolling. A chronicle unwritten and past all power of writing; who shall preserve a record of the petals that fell from the roses a century ago? The swallows to the house-tops three hundred — times think of that! Thence she sprang, and the world yearns toward her beauty as to flowers that are past. The loveliness of seventeen is centuries old. That is why passion is almost sad.

ödlek bir tavuk gibi korkuluğa sarılmışken cesur görünmek pek de mümkün değildir.

Bugün de olmaz,” diye mırıldandım. “Çünkü bana gülümsedi.

Ama sebebi o değil. Sebebi, aslında hiçbir şeyin öneminin olmaması. Ne okul, ne ponpon kız takımı, ne arkadaşlar, erkek arkadaşlar, partiler, yaratıcı yazarlık bölümleri, ne de..” Kollarını tüm dünyayı işaret edercesine iki yana açtı. “Hepsi, ölünceye kadar oyalanmamız için uydurulmuş türlü meşgaleler.

White contains all the wavelengths of the visible spectrum at full brightness. -Theodore Finch

-Penso bem melhor à noite, quando todo mundo está dormindo. Sem interrupções. Gosto da sensação de estar acordado quando ninguém está.

Quais sentimentos são reais? Quais dos meus eus sou eu?

I treat water on the surface under the wide, open sky and the sun and all that blue, which reminds me of Theodore Finch, just like everything else reminds me of him, and I think of my own epitath, still to be written, and all the places I'll wander. No longer rooted, but gold, flowing. I feel a thousand capacities spring in me

I'm trying out Theodore Finch, '80s kid, and seeing how he fits.

Theodore FinchI was alive. I burned brightly. And then I died, but not really. Because someone like me cannot, will not, die like everyone else. I linger like the legends of the Blue Hole. I will always be here, in the offerings and people I left behind.

Theodore Finch, in search of the Great Manifesto.

I lean in, and she backs up into a locker. Her eyes are darting everywhere like she’s terrified someone might see Violet Markey and Theodore Finch together. God forbid Ryan Cross walks by and gets the wrong idea. I wonder what she’d say to him—It’s not what it looks like. Theodore Freak is harassing me. He won’t leave me alone. “Glad I can return the favor.” Now I’m pissed. I rest one hand against the locker behind her. “You know, you’re a lot friendlier when we’re by ourselves and no one’s around to see us together.” “Maybe if you didn’t run through the halls and shout at everyone. I can’t tell if you do all this because it’s expected or because it’s just the way you are.” “What do you think?” My mouth is an inch from hers, and I wait for her to slap me or push me away, but then she closes her eyes, and that’s when I know—I’m in.

The thing I don't say is: I want to stay alive. The reason I don't say it is because, given that fat folder in front of him, he'd never believe it. And here's something else he'd never believe—I'm fighting to be here in this shitty, messed-up world. Standing on the ledge of the bell tower isn't about dying. It's about having control. It's about never going to sleep again.

I tread water on the surface under the wide, open sky and the sun and all that blue, which reminds me of Theodore Finch, just like everything else reminds me of him, and I think of my own epitaph, still to be written, and all the places I’ll wander. No longer rooted, but gold, owing. I feel a thousand capacities spring up in me.

You are all the colours in one, at full brightness