Ignite Me (Shatter Me, #3)

by Tahereh Mafi

that our eyes blur the truth when we can’t bear to see it.

“Second, is that I am an unapologetically selfish person, who, in almost every situation, makes decisions based entirely on self-interest.

gotta respect it

There’s a strange kind of freedom in the dark; a terrifying vulnerability we allow ourselves at exactly the wrong moment, tricked by the darkness into thinking it will keep our secrets. We forget that the blackness is not a blanket; we forget that the sun will soon rise. But in the moment, at least, we feel brave enough to say things we’d never say in the light.

some bland, utterly replaceable automaton.

NAH PERFECTLY SUMMED HIM UP

“You should get a dog, love. I hear they share much the same qualities.”

“You deserve to live. You deserve to be alive.” He’s staring at me, unblinking. “Come back to life, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“It is exactly that simple. Everything else is just a joke to them. The texts, the artifacts, the languages. They just want to scare people, to keep them submissive, and to strip them of their individuality—to herd them into a singular mentality that serves no purpose but their own. This is why they can and will destroy all rebel movements. And this is a fact that your friends did not fully understand. And now,” he says, “they have suffered for their ignorance.”

is this our future

Fear will learn to fear me.

“I thought you were upset about breaking down that wall,” he says. “I mean, I knew the simulation would probably be scary as hell, but I thought Warner would’ve told you what it was beforehand. I had no idea you’d walked into something like that thinking it was going to be real.” He presses his eyes shut for a second. “I thought you were upset about learning you had this whole new crazy ability. And about the soldiers who were injured in the aftermath.” I’m blinking at him, stunned.

MEN ARE SO FUCKING STUPID

Words, I think, are such unpredictable creatures. No gun, no sword, no army or king will ever be more powerful than a sentence. Swords may cut and kill, but words will stab and stay, burying themselves in our bones to become corpses we carry into the future, all the time digging and failing to rip their skeletons from our flesh.

“Do you never get exhausted being so wholly unbearable? You have as much charisma as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill.”

THE WAY THAT I LOVE THIS MAN

“I love you,” he says, his words harsh and soft all at once. “I love you and it isn’t enough. I thought it would be enough and I was wrong. I thought I could fight for you and I was wrong. Because I can’t. I can’t even face you anymore—”

“This isn’t about Adam or Warner,” I tell him. “This is about me and what I want. This is about me finally understanding where I want to be in ten years. Because I’m going to be alive, Kenji. I will be alive in ten years, and I’m going to be happy. I’m going to be strong. And I don’t need anyone to tell me that anymore. I am enough, and I always will be.” I’m

YESSSSSSSSSSSS FINALLLYYYYY

“Water that never moves,” I say to him. “It’s fine for a little while. You can drink from it and it’ll sustain you. But if it sits too long it goes bad. It grows stale. It becomes toxic.” I shake my head. “I need waves. I need waterfalls. I want rushing currents.”

“If you’re going to hesitate,” he says, “do it on purpose. If you’re going to hurt someone, do it on purpose. If you’re going to lose a fight,” he says, “do it on purpose.”

“Commandering is not a word.” “It has letters, doesn’t it? Sounds like a word to me.”

i am using this

“But it also means that now I will never end up with anyone by default. I can do anything I want now.

“There is nothing to fear. Nothing to worry about. Grieve nothing in this transitory world,”

“His name is Paris.”

NOT HIS NAME BEING PARIS HAHHAAA

Words are like seeds, I think, planted into our hearts at a tender age. They take root in us as we grow, settling deep into our souls. The good words plant well. They flourish and find homes in our hearts. They build trunks around our spines, steadying us when we’re feeling most flimsy; planting our feet firmly when we’re feeling most unsure. But the bad words grow poorly. Our trunks infest and spoil until we are hollow and housing the interests of others and not our own. We are forced to eat the fruit those words have borne, held hostage by the branches growing arms around our necks, suffocating us to death, one word at a time.

“How can I hate his anger,” he says, “when I know so well where it comes from?”

FUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKK

“Because my friendship,” he whispers, “comes with so many more benefits than Kenji could ever offer.”

FOAMING AT THE MOUTH I AM FERAL