What you do, the way you think, makes you beautiful.
"Scott David Westerfeld" is an American writer of young adult fiction.More Scott Westerfeld on Wikipedia.
Everyone in the world was programmed by the place they were born, hemmed in by their beliefs, but you had to at least try to grow your own brain.
I can't imagine anything worse than being required to have fun.
A little drama wins more friends than boring.
It's amazing how quickly nature consumes human places after we turn our backs on them. Life is a hungry thing.
People only worry about the uncanny for about a week; that's the end of their attention span. After that, suspicions turn into shtick.
Freedom has a way of destroying things.
High school wasn't a trial by fire or some ordeal that had to be survived. It was all a big joke. You just had to provide the laugh track.
I guess sometimes you have to lie to find the truth.
Here's what I've learned about dogs: They're a lot like pretty girls. Having one or two around makes everything more fun, but when you get a whole bunch together, it turns into one big power struggle.
It doesn't take much convincing to make someone believe they're better than everyone else.
I'd watched too many schoolmates graduate into mental institutions, into group homes and jails, and I knew that locking people up was paranormal - against normal, not beside it. Locks didn't cure; they strangled.
Most men's awareness doesn't extend past their dinner plates.
Hard work's a good distraction.
Junkies might be easy to knock down, but they're never fragile. They have souls like old leather shoes studded with steel, and they're about as much good as friends.
Maybe kissing is sort of like nature's coffee.
Sometimes the facts in my head get bored and decide to take a walk in my mouth. Frequently this is a bad thing.
We don't always get to choose what we love.
Not everything made you stronger. It was possible to survive, yet still be crippled for your trouble. Sometimes it was okay to run away, to skip the test, to chicken out. Or at least to get some help.
Money's the same, whoever gives it to you. That was the point of money, after all: crisp and clean or wrinkled or disintegrated into quarters - a dollar was always worth a hundred cents.
The human heart is a strange vessel. Love and hatred can exist side by side.
Turns out if you never lie, there's always someone mad at you.