Tricks By Ellen Hopkins Quotes

Some people Never find the right kind of love you know, the kind that steals your breath away. Like diving into a snowmelt. The kind that jolts your heart, sets it beating apace. An anxious hiccuping of hummingbirds wings. The kind that makes every terrible minute apart feel like hours. Days. Years. Some people flit from one insane possibility to the next. Never experincing the connection of two people. rocked by destiny. Never knowing what it means to love someone else, more than themselves. More than life itself, or the promise of something better. Beyond this world, More even (forgive me!) than god. Lucky me, I found the right kind of love. With the wrong person.

You can’t walk away from someone you love, leave them drowning in your desertion. If love has no more meaning than that, you can keep it. I don’t want it now or ever again. Don’t want to hear the word or wear its scars.

The first time I kissed you. One kiss, and I was totally hooked. Addicted to you. I could never love anyone the way I love you. I'd follow you across the universe.

Being In Love Means hard questions. Will I? Won't I? Should I? Could I? Yes? No? You? Me? There is no me without you. Is there a you without me? And if were truly one. how will I breathe when circomstance pries us apart? You are my oxygen. my substance, the blood inside my veins. When we touch, you are my skin. hold all my joy inside of you. When you go, I wither.

Can’t promise I’ll stay. That would be lying. And I’m so, so tired of lies.

When all choice is taken from you, life becomes a game of survival.

Love is more than blind. It’s brain-dead.

Eyes Tell Stories But do they know how to craft fiction? Do they know how to spin lies? His eyes swear forever, flatter with vows of only me. But are they empty promises? I stare into his eyes, as into a crystal ball, but I cannot find forever, only movies of yesterday, a sketchbook of today, dreams of a shared tomorrow. His eyes whisper secrets. But are they truths or fairy tales? I wonder if even he knows.

I don’t belong here. I know that. But I don’t belong anywhere else, either. And that is at the heart of the black depression pressing down on me, flattening me. I have no place. No home. Sex, but no real affection. I am kept, but not cherished.

Hell isn’t some fiery pit “down there.” It’s right here on Earth, in every dirty city, every yawning town.

Some people never find the right kind of love. You know, the kind that steals your breath away, like diving into snowmelt. The kind that jolts your heart, sets it beating apace, an anxious hiccuping of hummingbird wings

When You Weren't Looking ...why. ...Can't you ...care ...more ...about ...me.

I only have have one question, scraping the inside of me. Answer it, and I will stumble back into her shadow, shut my mouth, never ask again. I've tried to ignore it, but it won't go away. It haunts my dreams, chases me through every single day, and I don't have the strength to turn around, face it down. So please tell me and I swear I'll never ask again. It's in your power to make it go away, and all you have to do is tell me why you love her more.

Home ...Home. ...the word, ...has ...no ...meaning

I hope I'm never a mom. But if I am, I'll make damn sure my kids look up to me.

Faces ...I ...don't ...know ...the real ...me

And if we're truly one, how will I breathe when circumstance pries us apart? You are my oxygen, my sustenance, the blood inside my veins. When we touch, you are my skin, hold all my joy inside of you. When you go, I wither.

When You Weren’t Looking The child became a woman, though she wasn’t ready to. Don’t ask how or why. Those questions are not important ones. Can’t you see you didn’t care enough to notice?

Have to Find ...life ...is ...a— ...gamble ...after ...all.

I'll Stay ...leave ...me. ...I'll ...follow ...you.

If I come back to you now, can we be what we were before life’s uncertain rhythms tore us so far apart? If I return today, will your arms gather me in, or will I be wrenched away, snatched by riptide I have no power to resist? If I find my way to you, one man standing in a crowd, will I even know who you are?

The best thing about my mom being such a bitch is not worrying about trying to make her proud of me.

Even without them touching me, I feel dirty about what I do. Alex does even filthier things but says it all washes off with soap. I don’t believe that. I think it all leaves stains. Indelible stains.

I whisper and you close your eyes. I speak and you turn away. If I scream, will you finally hear me beg you to hold me close to you, promise you'll never let go?

Religion is for followers... Followers and puppets.

Holy effing moly.

Whatever has happened in someone's past, the future is theirs to shape. The first step is to find a way out.

I told her about the man, not my daddy, she said, He was only making you into a real girl. I didn’t understand. But I made myself believe her. I was a real girl now. But what was I before?

Fear is a better friend than you, who feel nothing, beneath the weight of my pain.

Not sure if there is a God or why some all-powerful being would give half a damn about the likes of me.

hindsight is gained through experience

Sorry. But I don't need some money-grubbing preacher defining my relationship with God.

In control. Out of control. Sometimes they're the same thing. The trick is knowing that, realizing it's okay to feel out of control once in a while, as long as you're sure you can regain the upper hand when you absolutely need to.

Never say never, dear. You might be surprised at what you can do, should circumstances dictate

One kiss, I was totally hooked.

How many kinds of weirdos are there?” She doesn’t laugh. Lots. And the worst are the ones you don’t suspect. They’re the ones you invite inside your front door.

A chat With the Grim Reaper should be enough to scare away any thought of relapse. Wish it were that easy, but not even days conversing with death can disintegrate the claws of addiction.

the past will influence your future, but it doesn't have to destroy it.

Another day, a different hour, take a left and not a right, you'd wind up a whole different being. Knowing if that would be better requires a realm of experience only decades can build.

never believed in demons or monsters lurking under my bed. But lately I’ve started to wonder if evil hasn’t in fact infiltrated this world, slithering streets and sidewalks, wearing what- ever disguise suits its immediate purpose. When a choirboy is molested, is it by the devil in a priest costume? Or does Satan play a more clever game to get what he wants? To win the contest, accomplish his goals, might the prince of hatred mask himself as love?

I'm okay. Except..." God! "I totally want you.

Eyes closed, we can/be anywhere. Italy. France. Australia./Jupiter. Hell. Doesn't matter, as long/as we're not here. As long as we can pretend we're still pretty.

Flying Is that what it’s like when you die? Do you slip out of your skin, go soaring up into a butterscotch sky? Do you surf waves of light? How far? How high? I hope that’s what it’s like, but I’m afraid it’s a lot more like falling with no net to catch you, and no way of knowing how hard you will hit or where you’ll stop. Will you touch down back on Earth, or will you land in the nightmare you always feared you’d never wake up from?

What I am is in love with you. What I've learned is just how resilient love can be. You can beat it, pound it into pulp, but killing it is hard to do.

There are more imperfect diamonds than flawless stones.

Love is more than blind. It's brain-dead.

There are more imperfect diamonds than flawless stones. So, what the hell? I'll give it a try, and do my best to keep moving forward.

Why look for a prince when frogs are much more common?

In control. Out of control. Sometimes they're the same thing. The trick is knowing it's okay to feel out of control once in a while, as long as you're sure you can regain the upper hand when you absolutely need to.

Eyes tell stories but do they know how to craft fiction? Do they know how to spin lies? His eyes swear forever, flatter with vows of only me. But are they empty promises? I stare into his eyes as into a crystal ball, but I cannot find forever, only movies of yesterday, a sketchbook of today, dreams of a shared tomorrow. His eyes whisper secrets But are they truths or fairy tales? I wonder if even he knows.

There's a lesson here, and that is I have to find happiness inside myself before I try to partner again.

I chose silent resentment in favor of expressing my feelings, and that was a mistake.

His eyes are green, but almost clear, like cool emerald pools. You want to dive deep down into them and stay awhile.

There were plenty of men willing to be stand-ins for her fallen father. Only it wasn't exactly daughterly love they were after.

Anger just eats a person up inside, and I swear that girl was born angry.

I look up again at the night sky, but here, city lights take center stage, mute the celestial backdrop. I don't belong here, in the city.

But I let myself cry now. Loss is loss. Doesn't take death to create it.

Why reach for a dream when you're at ease within your nightmares?

You can't walk away from someone you love, leave them drowning in your desertion. If love has no more meaning than that, you can keep it. I don't want it now or ever again. Don't want to hear the word or wear its scars.

One thing I've learned in one or two years on this planet is to put myself first. Love is a fine thing while it lasts, but rarely is it permanent.

Once you've immersed yourself in ugliness, wallowed in it, sponged it up and internalized it, you can't cough it back up and spit it out. It becomes hard to find beauty in anything. No matter where I look, I find evil lurking. A monster sleeps inside every man. Cop. Mechanic. Minister. It doesn't matter. I can see the beast he hides.

We promise to keep in touch, knowing our separate journeys make it unlikely, that the erosion of affection is hurried with distance.

Love wasn't meant for people like you and me. You have to be strong and brave to fall in love. And maybe a little stupid.

When we were little, I looked up to her, but she outshone me in every way, and after a while it got old taking the backseat to her well-earned accomplishments. I chose silent resentment in favor of expressing my feelings, and that was a mistake.

... In a place where dreams too often die, sucked dry of hope by a city that celebrates sin in favor of love.

Being in love Means hard questions. Will I? Won't I? Should I? Could I? Yes? No? You? Me? There is no me without you. Is there a you without Me? And if we're truly one, how will I breathe when circumstance pries us Apart? You are my oxygen, my sustenance, the blood inside my veins. When we touch, you are my skin, hold all my joy inside of you. When you go, I wither.

Sooner or later someone you could not have ever dreamed of appears like a rainbow bridging clouds, and steals your breath away. Someone beautiful, inside and out, grabs hold of your hand, guides you along a rarely traveled road, to a place where your broken heart can be mended, piece by beating piece. The cost, gratefully afforded, is only your love.

Love is more than blind. It's brain-dead.

Need rises up from a bottomless well of longing, a whining so insistent no amount of willpower can force it silent.

Wish it were that easy, but not even days conversing with death can disintegrate the claws of addiction.

Why look for a prince when frogs are much more common? Why reach for a dream when you're at ease within your nightmares? Why scramble to disguise what your personal truth is when reality not only hurts less in the long run, but is most often the easier path?

my heart promises that that our love was sparked, as all love is, by God's love.

If god were inclined to punish someone just for being the way he created them, it would be punishment enough to insert that innocent soul inside the womb of a native Indianan.

I've decided if being a real man means smashing someone in the face or turning your back on a person because of their sexuality, I'll just stay a girl.

Why scramble to disguise what your personal truth is when reality not only hurts less in the long run, but is most often the easier path?