John Green Quotes

When any character gets killed, there's always a sadness about that, because they're part of the family in a way.

Your trying to take them away from me, and I can't let you do that.I'm not ready to let go." "Exactly what am I taking away?" "My family." "Brenna..." She wouldn't let him continue. "You are trying to take them away, aren't you? And if you succeed, what will I have left?" "Me.

After my grandfather died I went down to the basement of my family house where my family kept books, anthologies and things and there was an anthology without any names attached to it and I read a poem called Spellbound and I somehow attached it to my grandfather's death and I thought my grandfather had written it.

I know he's dead! Don't you think I know that? I can still like him, though, can't I? Just because somebody's dead, you don't just stop liking them, for God's sake--especially if they were about a thousand times nicer than the people you know that're alive and all.

When somebody leaves this plane—or, if you like, goes into another room—those left behind sometimes try and stop loving—but this is a mistake, because even if you have loved only once in your life, you’re ruined.

I know why we try to keep the dead alive: we try to keep them alive in order to keep them with us.

I was very attached to my family when my father died. I was 19. I was about to go live with my father right when he died, so it was very intense.

One of the grubby truths about a loss is that you don't just mourn the dead person, you mourn the person you got to be when the lost one was alive. This loss might even be what affects you the most.

It was inevitable, of course, but somehow it didn't seem right to Alex that they would never remember the sound of Carly's laughter, or know how deeply she'd once loved them.

All her knowledge is gone now. Everything she ever learned, or heard, or saw. Her particular way of looking at Hamlet or daisies or thinking about love, all her private intricate thoughts, her inconsequential secret musings – they’re gone too. I heard this expression once: Each time someone dies, a library burns. I’m watching it burn right to the ground.

Benjamin, we’re meant to lose the people we love. How else would we know how important they are to us?

Some things are hard to let go of.

I love you too much to say goodbye.

Some widowers are bereaved -- others, relieved.

We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love

In our memories, there is a graveyard where we bury our dead. They all lie there together, the loved ones and the ones we hated, friends and foes and kin, with no distinction among them. We have to mourn every one of them, because our memories have made them as much a part of us as our bones or our skin. If we don't, we've no right to remember anything at all.

My parents were extremely reluctant. When my father was clearly dying, my mother refused to acknowledge it.

I was worn out, broken: He had taken almost everything. But he'd been all I'd had, all this time. And when the police led him away, I pulled out of the hands of all these loved one, sobbing, screaming, everything hurting, to try and make him stay.

I have a picture I keep in my wallet of my father's corpse... I keep that picture in my wallet to show people who show me baby pictures.

The void Papa's death left in me became a kind of cavity, into which later experiences were to be laid.

All houses in which men have lived and suffered and died are haunted houses.

It was such a bigger picture [ Westworld] than what I thought it was. It's more of a revolution than a TV show.

I have frequently thought that the dead should be buried with all their belongings. It seems weirdly perverse that their clothes should still be here when the people you love best in the world have gone.

The memories of the day played in his mind, but this time, his thoughts were of his daughter and the way she'd clung to Katie, her little face buried in Katie's neck. The last time he'd seen that, he reflected, was when Carly had been alive.

I like to think that when I fall, A rain-drop in Death's shoreless sea, This shelf of books along the wall, Beside my bed, will mourn for me.