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357 pages, Hardcover
First published July 1, 2014
Oof. Pseudo-philosophical YA at its finest.
“It sure is ugly.”
“Ugly, never hurt a thing.”
I scoffed. “Oh, ugly has hurt some things. It’s just that pretty hurts more.”
“Why did you even come here, Cole?”Isabelle is shipped off California in the wake of her parent's crumbling marriage.
I touched her chin. This place, this beautiful place, this girl, this beautiful girl, this music, this life. “I came here for you.”
It was the first time I'd really realized I'd lost my soul and that the beauty of not having a soul was that you couldn't seem to care that you no longer had one.Will he win back his lady-love? Or will he lose himself in the process?
Things come in my eyes and ears and through my pores, and my receptors begin to pulse restlessly and my neurons fire like cannons, and by the time everything gets into my brain and comes out the other side, it’s all transformed into a different species, pixels or channels, glossy or matt. I can’t change the way I’m made. I’m a performer, a singer, a werewolf, a sinner.
I had told the truth, and it hadn’t mattered. In the end, she’d bought into the same story everyone else had. Did it matter if you’d changed if no one believed it?
We were so little, when you took away all our sins.
"Death is not morbid" he said "Everything else is."
"I feel like I'm the only sane person in the world. I don't get why this whole world runs on stupidity."
We are a wonder of checks and balances to keep on running. The human body doesn't want to get hurt. There was something wrong with me, because sometimes I didn't care. There was something wrong with me, because sometimes I wanted it. We fear death; we fear the void; we scrabble to keep our pulses. I was the void.