Quotes by John Green

There is no Them. There are only facets of Us.

I wanted us to have an adventure. Because I love that crap. Because Im not whatever-her-name-is. I dont think its oh so hard to walk four miles in the snow. I want that. I love that.

The real heroes anyway arent the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who invented the smallpox vaccine didnt actually invent anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didnt get smallpox.

Who am I to say that these things might nit be forever? Who is Peter Van Houten to assert as fact the conjecture that our labor is temporary?

There is no shortage of fault to be found amidst our stars.

There is not shortage of fault to be found amidst our stars.

sametimes people dont understand the promises theyre making when they make them

I was struck by an awful thought, the kind that cannot be taken back once it escapes into the open air of consciousness; it seemed to me that this was not a place you go to live. It was a place you go to die.

My dad finished chewing something and then put his fork down and looked at me. The longer I do my job, he said. the more I realize that humans lack good mirrors. Its so hard for anyone to show us how we look, and so hard for us to show anyone how we feel.That is really lovely, my mom said. I liked that they liked each other. But isnt it also that on some fundamental level we find it difficult to understand that other people are human beings in the same way that we are? We idealize them as gods or dismiss them as animals.True. Consciousness makes for poor windows, too. I dont think Id ever thought about it quite that way.

I believe the universe wants to be noticed. I think the universe is improbably biased toward the consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed.

and I told myself -- as Ive told myself before -- that the body shuts down then the pain gets too bad, that consciousness is temporary, that this will pass. But just like always, I didnt slip away. I was left on the shore with the waves washing over me, unable to drown.

depression is not a side effect of cancer. Depression is a side effect of dying.

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me will full hands; How could I answer the child?......I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. There was the hope Dr. Holden had talked about-the grass was a metaphor for his hope. But thats not all. He continues, Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped, Like grass is a metaphor for Gods greatness or something.... And then soon after is itself a child.... And then soon after that, Or, I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broadzones and narrow zones. Growing among black folk as among white.

We have a bad habit of seeing books as sort of cheaply made movies where the words do nothing but create visual narratives in our heads.So too often what passes for literary criticism is I couldnt picture that guy, or I liked that part, or this part shouldnt have happened. That is, weve left language so far behind that sometimes we judge quality solely based on a storys actions.So we can appreciate a novel that constructs its conflicts primarily through plot - the layered ambiguity of a fatal car accident caused by a vehicle owned by Gatsby but driven by someone else, for instance. But in this image-drenched world, sometimes we struggle to appreciate and celebrate books where the quality arises not exclusively from plot but also from the language itself.

I leave, and the leaving is so exhilarating I know I can never go back. But then what? Do I just keep leaving places, and leaving them, and leaving them, tramping a perpetual journey?

Where is my chance to be somebodys Peter Van Houten? He hit the steering wheel weakly, the car honking as he cried. He leaned his head back, looking up. I hate myself I hate myself I hate this I hate this I disgust myself I hate it I hate it I hate it just let me fucking die.

We got off at the next exit, quietly, and, switching drivers, we walked in front of the car. We met and I held him, my hands balled into tight fists around his shoulders, and he wrapped his short arms around me and squeezed tight, so that I felt the heaves of his chest as we realized over and over again that we were still alive. I realized it in waves and we held on to each other crying and I thought, God we must look so lame, but it doesnt matter when you have just now realized, all the time later, that you are still alive.

I lit up like a Christmas tree-Augustus Waters

If people were rain i was drizzle and she was a hurrican.

We dont get to choose if we get hurt in this world, old man, but we do have a say in who hurts us. I know I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.I do, Augustus. I do.