Tilt Ellen Hopkins Quotes

...life is all about chances. You might be safer not taking any. But playing it totally safe means you're only existing. Not living. I want to live.

The problem with falling in love is falling back out of it again, usually because you've fallen in love with a lie. That happens as often as not.

A best friend is your voice when you can't find it.

I hide hurt behind a fake smile. I wear it all the time. Everyone says how I always look so cheerful. Shows what they know I guess.

Coyotes hunt in packs, and so do assholes.

I fell into a big pit of black depression. That happens sometimes, when too much shit gets flung at me at once. It's like all the external pressure sucks into me, then tries to escape again. But it can't. So it builds. Throbs. Makes me feel like my skin is anxious to split. I think that feeling is why some people cut - little slices so they don't shred completely.

Girls are impossible to satisfy." "Not every girl." Not me. I'd be happy if he'd just like me a little.

And if candor strikes to forcefully, step back, draw careful breath, and consider the angle your words must take before you open your mouth, let them leak out. Because once you tilt the truth, it becomes a lie.

I'm sad. Pressed down by sorrow. I'm angry. Pissed at God, if there is one, and the way things are. I'm scared. Confused by the whys. Why are we here? Is there, really, some intelligent design? Why do we cry for someone who leaves us if there's some Grand Pearly Gate in the sky? Why worry about how we build our lives if the ultimate ending for all is death, a single breath away?

...and he's wearing some exotic cologne that makes me want to eat him.

I want him to be my Edward -- taking care of me, always. Watching over me, day or night, unsleeping. Keeping me safe, by his side. Caring for me with a passion so pure it can't be corrupted by time or distance or seduction. I know Edward is only fiction. But that doesn't have to mean love like his can only be found in books and movies or rooted in the misty world of dreams.

I take four or five heavy steps beyond the front door and Mom comes rushing down the hallway. "Shane! What in the hell-" Now she sees me, in all my dignified glory. I tell her I'm fine. Swear I stuck up for my sister, not an alien but an angel. By the time I get to, "I think I might need stitches," Mom is my mommy. She may have forgotten my birthday. But today she remembers me.

When we finally meet how much do I confess? Our bond is tenuous. Frail as a drift of moonlight on open sea. Would the truth crash us apart? Some secrets can't be kept for too long. No matter how hard you try to hide them, sooner or later, they scurry out from your cupboards, cockroaches on the run. No way to grow closer with deceit wedged between us. Should I tell or should I hide it away? Would you run away?

I hear. Nobody thinks so. But I do. Sometimes people whisper. Sometimes they yell. Sometimes they say mean things. I see more than the TV. It's my friend. I don't have any others, like the kids on Barney do. Why are people afraid of me? I don't want to hurt them. I taste only the sweet air, whooshed through tubes to help me breathe. If I'm lucky a bit of flavor comes with the wind or skin or clothes I smell. I wish my mouth would let me tell Mama I love her. Let me tell Daddy I ms him. Let me tell Shane how good I feel when I see him happy with Alex. I like when I swim because when I float, I am free. I like when I sleep because I dance when I dream. I hear, I see, I taste, I smell, I feel, I dream.

...Life is all about chances. You might be safer not taking any. But playing it totally safe means you're only existing. Not living.

Love isn't invincible. Some people take advantage of that.

The problems with lies is they start to pile up, one on top of another, until it's hard to find your way out from under the heap.

Dad might think being gay is a sin, but he sees it more as a sign of human weakness, not Satanic interference. At least, I don't think he does. I figure it's between me and the Big Guy upstairs. We used to go to church a lot, and I never heard on word to make me think I'm some sort of adbomination. If God is in fact responsible for creating me, He made me just how He wants me. And if He loved every bit of his handiwork, He loves me. And if all that is nothing more than mythology, what harm is there in believing the stories anyway? When I pray- or meditate, or consider the universe, whatever you want to call it- I find comfort. Self-acceptance. Understanding, at least in some world.

Yes, I believe that there is life after death. Any physicist will tell you that energy doesn't die, it only changes forms. What makes you you, Alex? That hunk of gray matter inside your skull? No way. You- all of us- have a life force. Energy. Some people call it a soul. Whatever you call it, it makes you you. And when your body dies, your energy will remain. I can't say for sure what heaven is. But I have faith that it's a special place, and that you will be welcome there.

She smells like summer wildflowers, as if they were woven into her hair and crushed by the weight of our love.

Consider the angle your words must take before you open your mouth, let them leak out. Because once you tilt the truth, it becomes a lie.

I think it's better to be obsessed than to be depressed.... I think pushing to get what you want can't be so awful. I think it's key to success.

...I know there's no such thing as forever. So what can we be, in the now?

Why are we here? Is there, really, some intelligent design? Why do we cry for someone who leaves us, if there's some Grand Pearly Gate in the sky? Why worry about how we build our lives if the ultimate ending for all is death, a single breath away?

...When I set my mind on something I am a force to be reckoned with. Today I will be gravity - subtle, but powerful and undeniable.

What about the idea that genuine love is about conquering mutual demons?

Love and sacrifice are inextricable.

If God is in fact responsible for creating me, He made me just how He wants me. And if He loves every bit of his handiwork, He loves me.

Yes, I believe that there is life after death. Any physicist will tell you that energy doesn’t die, it only changes forms.

life is all about chances. You might be safer not taking any. But playing it totally safe means you’re only existing. Not living.

every word an author writes causes ripples, like tossing a stone into a pond. And you don’t know where they’ll go, or who they’ll touch, or when they might come back to you. I think everything you do is kind of like that, too.

Once you tilt the truth, it becomes a lie.

because once you tilt the truth, it becomes a lie