You know how sometimes you tell yourself that you have a choice, but really you don't have a choice? Just because there are alternatives doesn't mean they apply to you. Rick Yancey More Quotes by Rick Yancey More Quotes From Rick Yancey And in more than half the pictures, she isn't looking at the camera; she's looking at him. Not the way I would look at Ben Parish, all squishy around the eyes. She looks at Evan fiercely, like, This here? It's mine Rick Yancey eye half looks He asks me what happened to my leg. I told him I was shot by a shark. He doesn't react. Doesn't seem confused or amused or anything. Like getting shot by a shark is a perfectly natural thing in the aftermath of the arrival. Rick Yancey aftermath sharks confused What doesn't kill us sharpens us. Hardens us. Schools us. You're beating plowshares into swords, Vosch. You are remaking us. We are the clay, and you are Michelangelo. And we will be your masterpiece. Rick Yancey masterpiece clay school I don't move. I wait behind my log, terrified. Over the past ten minutes, it's become such a dear friend, I consider naming it: Howard, my pet log. Rick Yancey waiting past moving I'm one, too," he said. "What?" He spit a wad of blood and mucus into the dirt. "A virgin." What a shock. "What makes you think I'm a virgin?" I asked. "You wouldn't have hit me if you weren't. Rick Yancey make-you-think blood thinking And then Evan Walker kisses me. Rick Yancey kiss-me walkers kissing Some things you don't have to promise. You just do. Rick Yancey promise To hold on, you have to find something you’re willing to die for. Rick Yancey willing-to-die willing dies You never know when the truth will come home. You can't choose the time. The time chooses you. Rick Yancey coming-home knows home When you look death in the eye and death blinks first, nothing seems impossible. Rick Yancey eye looks firsts Poets never die, I thought. They just fail in the end. Rick Yancey failing poet ends The spring rains woke the dormant tillers, and bright green shoots sprang from the moist earth and rose like sleepers stretching after a long nap. As spring gave way to summer, the bright green stalks darkened, became tan, turned golden brown. The days grew long and hot. Thick towers of swirling black clouds brought rain, and the brown stems glistened in the perpetual twilight that dwelled beneath the canopy. The wheat rose and the ripening heads bent in the prairie wind, a rippling curtain, an endless, undulating sea that stretched to the horizon. Rick Yancey summer rain spring Human beings are remarkably resilient. When you think about it, our species has been teetering upon the edge of the existential cliff since Hiroshima. In short, we endure. Rick Yancey cliffs hiroshima-and-nagasaki thinking My first favourite book was Are You My Mother? A picture book about a lost bird. After that my favourites changed almost yearly. I loved everything by Roald Dahl, but my favourite was probably Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. A librarian gave me a first edition of that book, which I treasure. Rick Yancey mother bird book I have a very low tolerance for boredom and often think I would have missed out on books entirely if Id grown up in the Internet and video game age. Now I enjoy books for people of all ages, including children. Rick Yancey book children thinking To hell with monsters and to hell with men. There is no difference to me. Rick Yancey differences monsters men You're mortal, and only a mortal can afford to be romantic. When we conquered death, we murdered love. Rick Yancey mortals Sci-Fi is the genre that explored both possibilities: the end of our existential crisis and the end of our existence. My novel, The 5th Wave, explores the latter scenario, because, frankly, I believe it represents the likeliest outcome of an extraterrestrial encounter. In short, if they're out there, we better hope they never find us. Rick Yancey encounters outcomes believe The world is a clock winding down. Rick Yancey winding-down clock world The beautiful wooden board on a stand in my father's study. The gleaming ivory pieces. The stern king. The haughty queen. The noble knight. The pious bishop. And the game itself, the way each piece contributed its individual power to the whole. It was simple. It was complex. It was savage; it was elegant. It was a dance; it was a war. It was finite and eternal. It was life. Rick Yancey queens kings beautiful
