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One: the dead will take everything you love. You have to end them before they can end you.
two: the person poking the dead ain’t always the one paying for it. In fact, most times, it’s the ones minding their own business who suffer.
Once I read something, I know it forever. Whether I’m supposed to be reading it or not.
Here’s a thing about me: I have always considered pursuing a life on the stage if this whole killing-the-dead thing doesn’t work out.
a politician was a man that had perfected the art of lying, so I always read those articles with a certain amount of skepticism
I’ve just lain down and started to snooze when someone shakes me awake. “The building better be on fire,” I grumble.
One day I will return to Baltimore, and when I do, there will be hell to pay.
“The point is, sometimes when the rabbit gets too fat, too comfortable, he makes mistakes. But the gardener, she ain’t got nothing but time. Because even the hungriest rabbit can’t eat the entire garden.
The one boy I was stupid enough to love is dead. I’d thought my heart broke when he’d told me he didn’t love me, that we were better off alone than together. In a world where people are always being ripped away by the undead plague, I’d thought his words had destroyed my heart. I was wrong. This is what a broken heart feels like.
Here’s a thing about me: I have always been a complete and utter muttonhead for a clever boy, even when I’m half delirious with pain.
“You shouldn’t jump to conclusions about people, Mr. Gideon. I contain multitudes.”