Margo was not a miracle. She was not an adventure. She was not a fine and precious thing. She was a girl. Radar rolled his eyes. The human tongue is like wasabi: For the longest time, it felt kind of like my chest was cracking open, but not precisely in an unpleasant way. I had engineered a most unlikely prom coupling. I had quieted the hounds of caste warfare. I had come to feel comfortable inside the rat-infested haunted house where she did her best thinking.
But I could not yet become the wounded person. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world. Do I just keep leaving places, and leaving them, and leaving them, tramping a perpetual journey? Pulling life out by the roots. And so when she left, she left for good.
But I could not believe she had left for a perpetual journey. She had, I felt sure, left for a place—a place where she could stay long enough for it to matter, long enough for the next leaving to feel as good as the last one had. I hand him his shirt and he wiggles into it while driving with his knees. I feel like this is an important idea, one of those ideas that your brain must wrap itself around slowly, the way pythons eat. We can hear others, and we can travel to them without moving, and we can imagine them, and we are all connected one to the other by a crazy root system like so many leaves of grass—but the game makes me wonder whether we can really ever fully become another.
Two cows stand oblivious in the highway. They come into view all at once, a spotted cow in the left lane, and in our lane an immense creature, the entire width of our car, standing stock-still, her head turned back as she appraises us with blank eyes. The cow is flawlessly white, a great white wall of cow that cannot be climbed or ducked or dodged. It can only be hit. He pats my uninjured cheek with a greasy hand. Maybe the sure knowledge that she is alive makes all of that possible again—even if I never see proof of it.
I can almost imagine a happiness without her, the ability to let her go, to feel our roots are connected even if I never see that leaf of grass again. The harder you spin it, the better it performs. No one says anything for a while.
But there is still too much to be ruined. But that night you turned out to be real. And it ends up being so odd and fun and magical that I go back to my room in the morning and I just miss you. I looked down and thought about how I was made of paper. I was the flimsy-foldable person, not everyone else. People love the idea of a paper girl.
The something deeper and more secret. But as for me: I must ask the wounded man where he is hurt, because I cannot become the wounded man. The only wounded man I can be is me. But imagining being someone else, or the world being something else, is the only way in. It is the machine that kills fascists. We are now as I wished we could be then. Just that everything except the last thing is.
But there are a thousand ways to look at it: But you have to be careful which metaphor you choose, because it matters. The metaphors have implications. But the strings make pain seem more fatal than it is, I think.
And I like the grass, too. The grass got me to you, helped me to imagine you as an actual person. You can imagine another well—but never quite perfectly, you know? Like each of us starts out as a watertight vessel. And the vessel starts to crack open in places. And I mean, yeah, once the vessel cracks open, the end becomes inevitable. Once it starts to rain inside the Osprey, it will never be remodeled.
But there is all this time between when the cracks start to open and when we finally fall apart. The light can get out. And maybe by imagining these futures we can make them real, and maybe not, but either way we must imagine them. The light rushes out and floods in. After we kiss, our foreheads touch as we stare at each other. Yes, I can see her almost perfectly in this cracked darkness. M bookloversbookclub posted this Show more notes Loading Book Lover's Book Club.
Paper Towns Quote Post Hey book lovers! I apologize but you will have to scroll quite a bit to get past this one! The Strings Chapter 1 4. Like, I will probably never be struck by lightning, or win a Nobel Prize, or become the dictator of a small nation in the Pacific Islands, or contract terminal ear cancer, or spontaneously combust.
But if you consider all the unlikely things together, at least one of them will probably happen to each of us. I could have seen it rain frogs. I could have stepped foot on Mars. I could have been eaten by a whale. I could have married the queen of England or survived months at sea. But my miracle was different. My miracle was this: My head was level with hers as we stared at each other from opposite sides of the glass.
We just stay there, looking at each other, forever. High school is neither a democracy nor a dictatorship - nor, contrary to popular belief, an anarchic state. High school is a divine-right monarchy. And when the queen goes on vacation, things change. It was nice—in the dark and the quiet, with no possibility of me saying anything to screw it up, and her eyes looking back, like there was something in me worth seeing.
And we are going to wrong some rights. The first shall be last; the last shall be first; the meek shall do some earth-inheriting.
But before we can radically reshape the world, we need to shop. We idealize them as gods or dismiss them as animals. And in everything that came afterward, I could never stop thinking that maybe she loved mysteries so much that she became one. You could count on ten years or so of real adulthood, right? There was no planning for retirement. There was no planning for a career. There was no planning. No time for planning. No time for a future. But then the life spans started getting longer, and people started having more and more future, and so they spent more time thinking about it.
And now life has become the future.
Paper Towns study guide contains a biography of John Green, literature essays, quiz questions, major themes, characters, and a full summary and analysis.
Paper Towns Quote Post Hey book lovers! Sorry I am a couple of days late with this one but there were A LOT of quotes for this one! As always the quotes are organized chronologically, but the page numbers are from my hard cover copy. they are under the cut! # paper towns # paper towns quotes # dftba # nerdfighters # bookloversbookclub.
Quotes tagged as "paper-towns" (showing of ) “What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person.” ― John Green, Paper Towns. PAPER TOWNS QUOTES AND PAGE NUMBERS "I always got very nervous whenever I heard that Margo was about to show up, on account of how she was the most fantastically gorgeous creature that God had ever created." (pg. 4) "All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm." (pg. 57) "Everyone demented with the mania of owning things.
“The town was paper, but the memories were not. All the things I’d done here, all the love and pity and compassion and violence and spite, kept welling up inside me.” Paper Towns 0 When I wake up, the dying light of the day makes everything seem to matter, from the yellowing sky to the stalks of grass above my head, waving in slow motion like a beauty queen.