That's what I'll be. A silhouette, rarely seen, and yet believed in.— Ellen Hopkins
The most genuine Ellen Hopkins quotes that may be undiscovered and unusual
That's what I'll be. A silhouette, rarely seen, and yet believed in. Kaeleigh wants to believe in me. I am her twin, forever alive inside her. And when she needs me, I am always here.
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
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.
Words have power. The power to soothe. The power to skewer someone through the heart. The power to render someone speechless.
Sometimes the little things in life mean the most.
One foot in front of the other, counting tiles on the floor so I don't have to focus the blur of painted smiles, fake faces.
Now that I have opened that bottle of memories they're pouring out like wine, crimson and bittersweet.
Her smile is like summer moonlight-beautiful and magical, with a fire that could melt the night.
he sucked the nectar from her heart like a famished butterfly.
I hate this feeling. Like I'm here, but I'm not. Like someone cares. But they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air.
It's probably weird to think about an addiction like it's a sentient being, but that's how it feels. Like it's something living inside you. Something you can't get rid of because killing it means killing you.
There will never be color blindness in a culture of fear.
Afraid to Die Loveless Because I think if you die without knowing love in this life, that's how you'll spend eternity. Alone. Frozen.
You were a summer gift, one I'll always treasure.
You were a dream I never wanted to wake up from. You opened my eyes to things I'll never really see. You're the best thing that will ever happen to me.
So you try to think of someone else you're mad at, and the unavoidable answer pops into your little warped brain: everyone.
The wind kicks in stronger, branches clatter.
Or maybe skeletons. Bones of abandonment. Ghosts that will never be.
...what good would it do to shutter your windows, never dream of rainbows or find hope in promises? Why choose to walk away rather than hold your ground and fight for love?
Anger is a valid emotion. It's only bad when it takes control and makes you do things you don't want to do.
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.
Sad, that lives can be shattered, into so many pieces that they can never be put back together, the the relentless force of love. Irreparable.
I want the part of you that you refuse to give.
I want to know what it means to be in love. But in my dictionary 'in love' is indefinable.
Torch every book. Burn every page. Char every word to ash. Ideas are incombustible. And therein lies your real fear.
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.
What's the point of being a hero when everyone thinks you're a villain?
Even good girls have secrets, ones even their best friends must guess.
She is angle. I am curve. Together, we are geometric sculpture, and we make perfect sense.
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.
Memory is a tenuous thing, like a rainbow's end or a camera with a failing lens.
Think long and hard before offering your heart to someone who can only accept it part-time
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.
Perfect? How can you define a word without concrete meaning?
Taking no chances means wasting your dreams.
Love without trust is nothing more than infatuation.
When did creating a flawless facade become a more vital goal than learning to love the person who lives inside your skin?
All I can do is lie here, brain turning somersaults.
It's nights like these when memories stir, whipping themselves into stiff peaks of pain.
Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put the gun to your chest.
I feel like a goddess, jailed in her Olympus.
Little wonder how the gods toyed with humans. Toyed with women, to watch them squirm, pollinate the seeds of despair; toyed with men, to satiate their Seven Deadly Sins.
I need to capture my sprite with trembling hands.
Except I could crush her. Wonder how many small things of beauty - flowers, seashells, dragonflies - have met such a demise. Wonder how much fragile love has collapsed beneath the weight of confession.
Have you ever once in your life reached out to touch infinity?
Freedom is a double-edged ideal, because true freedom comes without the protection of laws that also enslave us by defining us--female, male; Christian, Islamic; good, evil. All at the whim of a frail minority.
Was the fun in the fall?
you fly until you crash two days two nights no sleep, no food, come down off the monster YOU CRASH REAL HARD
Christmas is far and away my favorite holiday.
I love everything about it, from the event that inspired it, hoping for a white one, to wrapping presents. But mostly I love having family and friends gathered, and sharing traditions.
Perfection I've lived with the pretense of perfection for seventeen years.
Give my room a cursory inspection, you'd think I have OCD. But it's only habit and not obsession that keeps it all orderly. Of course, I don't want to give the impression that it's all up to me.
Nonfiction speaks to the head. Fiction speaks to the heart. Poetry speaks to the soul. It's the essence of beauty. The essence of pain. It pleases the eye and the ear.
How can I explain purposely setting foot on a path so blatantly treacherous? Was the fun in the fall?
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?