John Green

“Prodigy" Huge, megalithic corporation seeks a talented, ambitious prodigy to join our exciting dynamic Prodigy Division for summer job. Requirements include at least fourteen years' experience as a certified child prodigy ability to anagram adeptly (and alliterate agilely), fluency in eleven languages. Job duties include reading, remembering encyclopedias, novels, and poetry; and memorizing the first ninety-nine digits of pi.33”

“The Theorem reste upon the validity of my longstanding argument that the world contains precisely two kinds of people: Dumpers and Dumpees. Everyone is predisposed to being either one or the other, but of course not all people are COMPLETE Dumpers and Dumpees. Hence the bell curve:" The majority of people fall somewhere close to the vertical dividing line with the occasional statisticaly outliner (e.g., me) representing a tiny percentage of overall individuals. The numerical expression of the graph can be something like 5 being extreme Dumper, and 0 being me. Ergo, if the Great One was a 4 and I am a 0, total size of the Dumper/Dumpee differetial = -4 (Assuming negative numbers if the guy is more of a Dumpee; positive if the girl is.)”

“I think ya'll should work for me this summer in Gutshot. I'm starting a project, and you'd be perfect for it." Over the years, people had occasionally sought to employ Colin in a manner beffitting his talents. But (a) summers were for smart-kid camp so that he could further his learning and (b) a real job would distract him from his real work, which was becoming an ever-larger repository of knowledge, and (c) Colin didn't really have any marketable skills. One rarely comes across, for instance, the following want ad:”

“We will call Chase, Jeans Are Too Tight, and Fulton shall be Short One Chewing Tobacco," Hassan whispered to Colin. "Je m'appelle Pierre," Colin blurted out after the boys had introduced themselves. "Quand je vais dans le metro, je fais aussi de la musique de prouts.”

“ARCHDUKE FRANZ FERDINAND. 1863-1914. LLIE LIGHTLY UPON HIM EARTH, THO' HE / LAID MANY A HEAVY BURDEN UPON THEE.”

“Love is graphable!" Colin said defensively. "Right. Because relationships are so predictable, right?”

“You aime lots of stupid crap." While Hassan worked to make God hates baguettes Colin's mind raced like this: (1) baguettes (2) Katherine XIX (3) the ruby necklace he'd bought her five months and seventeen days before (4) most rubies come from India, which (5) used to be under control of the United Kingdom, of which (6) Winston Churchill was the prime minister, and (7) isn't it interesting how a lot of good politicians, like Churchill and also Gandhi, were bald while (8) a lot of evil dictators, like Hitler and Stalin and Saddam Hussein, were mustachoied? But (9) Mussolini only wore a mustache sometimes, and (10) lost of good scientists had mustaches, like the Italian Ruggero Oddi, who (11) discovered (and named for himself) the intestinal tract's spinchter of Oddi, which is just one of several lesser-known sphicnters like (12) the pupillary spinchter.”

“Vivimos en un universo que se dedica a crear, y a erradicar, la conciencia.”

“El dolor es como una tela: cuanto más fuerte es, más valor tiene" ¿Es eso cierto, Hazel?”

“I didn’t tell him that the diagnosis camethree months after I got my first period. Like: Congratulations! You’re a woman. Now die”

“Hi, Support Group Hazel. Comeover here so I can examine your face with my hands and see deeper into your soul than a sighted person ever could”

“Without Pain, How Could We Know Joy? edit”

“Hitler is the rare individual who really did make history - specifically he made it worse.”

“This is all so CHILDISH PATHETIC. YOU'RE EMBARASSING. GET OVER IT GET OVER IT GET OVER IT. But he did not quite know what "it" was.”

“Algunas veces lees un libro, sientes un extraño afán evangelizador y estás convencido de que este desastrado mundo no se recuperará hasta que todos los seres humanos lo lean. Y luego están los libros como Un Dolor Imperial, de los que no puedes hablar con nadie, libros tan especiales, escasos y tuyos que revelar el cariño que les tienes parece una gran traición.”

“Colin believed that the world contained exactly two kinds of people: Dumpers and Dumpees. A lot of people will claim to be both, but those people miss the point entirely: You are predisposed to either one fate or the other. Dumpers may not always be the heartbreakers, and the Dumpees may not always be the heartbroken." (1) breakup, (2) divorce, or (3) death.”

“because the driving kept him going stay under seventy; God, my heart racing; I hate the taste of coffee; so wired though; okay, and clear of the truck; okay yes; right lane; and now just my own headlights against the darkness.”

“he did not drink or do drugs or smoke cigarettes or wear black eyeliner or stay out late or get bad grades or pierce his tongue or have the words "KATHERINE LUVA 4 LIFE" tattoed across his back.”

“It pains me to say this, Colin, but if you wish to continue to grow intellectually, you need to work harder right now than you ever have before. Otherwise you, you risk wasting your potential." "Technically," Colin answered, "I think I might have already wasted it.”

“Col, Here's to all the places we went. And all the places we'll go And here's me, whispering again and again and again and again: iloveyou. yrs forever, K-a-t-h-e-r-i-n-e Eventually, he found the bed too comfortable for his state of mind, so he lay down on his back, his legs sprawled across the carpet. He anagrammed "yrs forever" until he found one he liked: sorry fever. And then he lay there in his fever of sorry and repeated the now memorized note in his head and wanted to cry, but instead he only felt this aching behind his solar plexus. Crying adds something: crying is you, plus tears. But the feeling Colin had was some horrible opposite of crying. It was you, minus somthing. He kept thinking about one word -forever-and felt the burning ache just beneath his rib cage. It hurt like the worst ass-kicking- he'd ever gotten. And he'd gotten plenty." 1.Greek: "I have found it." 2.More on that later.”

“1. Your grandmother/grandfather/Aunt-Suzie-whom-you-never-met-but-trust-me-she-was-nice-and-it's-a-shame is dead. 2. You're letting a girl named Katherine distract you from your studies. 3. Babies are made through an act that you will eventually find intriguing but for right now will just sort of horrify you, and also sometimes people do stuff that involves baby-making parts that does not actually involve making babies, like for instance kiss each other in places that are not on the face. It never meant: 4. A girl named Katherine called while you were in the bathtub. She's sorry. She still loves you and has made a terrible mistake and is waiting for you downstairs.”

“And on some level it walways felt like kids paying at being grown”

“Okay, so anagrams. That’s one. Got any other charming talents?” she asked, and now he felt confident.Finally, Colin turned to her, gathering in his gut the slim measure of courage available to him, and said, “Well, I’m a fair kisser.”

“Amsterdam is like the rings of a tree: It gets older as you get closer to the center.”

“I was insufferable long before we lost her. Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you.”

“Some day no one will remember that she ever existed', I wrote in my notebook, and then, 'or that I did.' Because memories fall apart too. And then you're left with nothing, left not even with a ghost, but with its shadow.”

“The Colonel ran ahead of me, gleeful at his ejection, and I jogged after him, trailing in his wake. I wanted to be one of those people who have streaks to maintain, who scorch the ground with their intensity. But for now, at least I knew such people,and they needed me, just like comets need tails.”

“The shirt was a screen print of a famous Surrealist artwork by René Magritte in which he drew a pipe and then beneath it wrote in cursive Ceci n’est pas une pipe. (“This is not a pipe.”)“I just don’t get that shirt,” Mom said. “Peter Van Houten will get it, trust me. There are like seven thousand Magritte references in An Imperial Affliction.” “But it is a pipe.” “No, it’s not,” I said. “It’s a drawing of a pipe. Get it? All representations of a thing are inherently abstract. It’s very clever.” “How did you get so grown up that you understand things that confuse your ancient mother?” Mom asked. “It seems like just yes-terday that I was telling seven-year-old Hazel why the sky was blue. You thought I was a genius back then.” “Why is the sky blue?” I asked. “Cuz,” she answered. I laughed.”

“Without pain we wouldn't know joy”

“me enamore como al dormir , primero lento y después de golpe - hazel( bajo la misma estrella)”

“The truth is that it hurts because its real, it hurts because it mattered.”

“Lidewij, I believe Agustus Waters sent a few pages from a notebok to Peter Van Houten shortly before he (Augustus) died. It is very important to me that someone reads these pages. I want to read them, of course, but maybe they weren't written for me. Regardless, they must be read. They must be. Can you help? Your friend, Hazel Grace Lancaster "She responded late that afternoon." Dear Hazel, I did not know that Augustus had died. I am very sad to hear this news. He was such a very charismatic young man. I am so sorry, and so sad. I have not spoken to Peter since I resigned that day we met. It is very late at night here, but I am going over to his house first thing in the morning to find this letter and force him to read it. Mornings were his best time, usually. Your friend, Lidewij Vliegenthart p.s. I am bringing my boyfriend in case we have to physically retsrain Peter.”

“Just heard that Gus Waters died after a lengthly battle with cancer. Rest in peace, buddy. I knew these people were genuinely sad, and that I wasn't really mad at them. I was mad at the universe. Even so, it infuriated me: You get all these friends just when you don't need friends anymore. I wrote a reply to his comment: We live in a universe devoted to the creation, and eradication, of awareness. Augustus Waters did not die after a lengthy battle with a cancer. He died after a lenghthy battle with human consciousness, a victim-as you will be-of the universe's need to make and unmake all that is possible.”

“I kept reading. I miss you already, bro. I love you, Augustus. God bless and keep you. You'll live forever in our hearts, big man. (That particularly galled me, because it implied the immortality of those left behind: You will live forever in my memory, becauuse I will live forever! I AM YOUR GOD NOW, DEAD BOY! I OWN YOU! Thinking you won't die is yet another side effect of dying.) You were always such a great friend I'm sorry I didn't see more of you after you left school, bro. I bet you're already playing ball in heaven.”

“For who so firm that cannot be seduced?" she'd written.”

“Desperately Lonely Swing Set Needs Loving Home "One swing set, well worn but structually sound, seeks new home. Make memories with your kid or kids so that someday he or she or they will look into the backyard and feel the ache of sentimentality as desperately as I did this afternoon. It's all fragile and fleeting, dear reader, but with this swing set, your child(ren) will be introduced to the ups and downs of human life gently and safely, and may alos learn the most important lesson of all: No matter how hard how you kick, no matter how high you get, you can't go all the way around." Swing set currently resides near 83rd and Spring Mill.”

“I was left on the shore with the waves washing over me, unable to drown.”

“Manchmal liest man ein Buch, und es erfüllt einen mit diesem seltsamen Missionstrieb, und du bist überzeugt, dass die kaputte Welt nur geheilt werden kann, wenn alle Menschen dieser Erde dieses eine Buch gelesen haben. Und dann gibt es Bücher [...], über die du mit niemandem reden willst, weil das Buch so besonders und kostbar und so persönlich für dich ist, dass darüber zu reden sich wie Verrat anfühlt.”

“So it was all like, Caroline continues to have behavioral problems. She struggling a lot with anger and frustration over not being able to speak (we are frustrated about these things, too, of course, but we have more socially acceptable ways of dealing with our anger). Gus has taken to calling Caroline HULK SMASH, which resonates with the doctors. There's nothing easy about this for any of us. but you take your humor where you can get it. Hoping to go home on Thursday. We'll let you know...”

“(a) It shouldn't've even been a question whether I wanted to kiss him, and (b) Kissing someone so that you can get a free trip is perilous close to full on-hooking, and I have to confess that while I did not fancy myself a particularly good person, I never thought my first real sexual action would be prostitutional.”

“Dear Ms. Lancaster, I fear your faith has been misplaced-but then, faith usually is. I cannot answer your questions, at least not in writing, because to write out such answers would constitute a sequel to An Imperial Affliction, which you might publish or otherwise share on the network that has replaced the brains of your generation. There is the telephone, but then you might record the conversation. Not that I don't trust you, of course, but I don't trust you. Alas, dear Hazel, I could never answer such questions except in person, and you are there while I am here. That noted, I must confess that the unexpected receipt of your correspondence via Ms. Vliegenthart has delighted me: What a wondrous thing to know that I made something useful to you-even if that book seems so distant from me that I feel it was written by a different man altogether. (The author of that novel was so thin, so frail, so comparatively optimistic!) Should you find yourself in Amsterdam, however, please do pay a visit at your leisure. I am usually home. I wouold even allow you a peek at my grocery lists. Your most sincerely, Peter Van Houten c/o Lidewij Vliegenthart”

“Qualities of a Good Nurse: Go," I said. "1.Doesn't put on your disabilities," Isaac said. "2.Gets blood on the first try." I said. "Seriosly, that is huge. I mean is this my freaking arm or a dartboard? 3.No condenscending voice.”

“Dear Mr. Peter Van Houten (c/o Lidewij Vliegenthart), My name is Hazel Grace Lancaster. My friend Augustus Waters, who read An Imperial Affliction at my recommendationtion, just received an email from you at this address. I hope you will not mind that Augustus shared that email with me. Mr. Van Houten, I understand from your email to Augustus that you are not planning to publish any more books. In a way, I am disappointed, but I'm also relieved: I never have to worry whether your next book will live up to the magnificent perfection of the original. As a three-year survivor of Stage IV cancer, I can tell you that you got everything right in An Imperial Affliction. Or at least you got me right. Your book has a way of telling me what I'm feeling before I even feel it, and I've reread it dozens of times. I wonder, though, if you would mind answering a couple questions I have about what happens after the end of the novel. I understand the book ends because Anna dies or becomes too ill to continue writing it, but I would really like to mom-wether she married the Dutch Tulip Man, whether she ever has another child, and whether she stays at 917 W. Temple etc. Also, is the Dutch Tulip Man a fraud or does he really love them? What happens to Anna's friends-particularly Claire and Jake? Do they stay that this is the kind of deep and thoughtful question you always hoped your readers would ask-what becomes of Sisyphus the Hamster? These questions have haunted me for years-and I don't know long I have left to get answers to them. I know these are not important literary questions and that your book is full of important literally questions, but I would just really like to know. And of course, if you ever do decide to write anything else, even if you don't want to publish it. I'd love to read it. Frankly, I'd read your grocery lists. Yours with great admiration, Hazel Grace Lancaster (age 16)”

“I'm going over to see a boy who is having a nervous breakdown, a boy whose connection to the sense of sight itself is tenuous, and gosh dang it, I am going to wear a dress for him.”

“Home is Where the Heart Is, Good Friends Are Hard to Find and Impossible to Forget. True Love is Born from Hard Times.”

“He was hot. A nonhotboy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy...well.”

“A boy was staring at me. I was quite sure I'd never seen him befroe. Long and leanly muscular, he dwarfed and the molded plastic elementary school chair he was sitting in. Mahogany hair, straight and short. He looked my age, maybe a year older, and he sat with his tailbone against the edge of the chair, his posture aggresively poor, one hand half in a pocket of dark jeans. I looked away, suddenly conscious of my myriad insufficiencies. I was wearing old jeans, which had once been tight but now sagged in weird places, and a yellow T-shirt advertising a band I didn't even like anymore. Also my hair: I had this pageboy haircut, and I hadn't even bothered to, like, brush it. Furthermore, I had ridiculously fat chipmunked cheeks, a side effect of treatment. I looked like a normally proportioned person with a balloon for a head. This was not even to mention the canckle situation. And yet-I cut a glance to him, and his eyes were still on me.”

“Waking up was horrible, because for a disoriented moment I felt like everything was fine, and then it crushed me anew.”

“You simply cannot draw these things out forever. At some point, you just pull off the Band-Aid and it hurts, but then it's over and you're relieved.”

“That was perfect, I thought: you listen to people so that you can imagine them, and you hear all the terrible and wonderful things people do to themselves and to one another, but in the end the listening exposes you even more than it exposes the people you're trying to listen to.”