Ellen Hopkins Quotes About Skins

Quotes about: Skins

• Being In Love Means hard questions. Will I? Won't I? Should I? Could I? Yes? No? You? Me? There is no me without you. Is there a you without me? And if were truly one. how will I breathe when circomstance pries us apart? You are my oxygen. my substance, the blood inside my veins. When we touch, you are my skin. hold all my joy inside of you. When you go, I wither.

  Ellen Hopkins

  Mean, Being In Love, Oxygen

• HOW do you define a word without concrete meaning? To each his own, the saying goes, so WHY push to attain an ideal state of being that no two random people will agree is WHERE you want to be? Faultless. Finished. Incomparable. People can never be these, and anyway, WHEN did creating a flawless facade become a more vital goal than learning to love the person WHO lives inside your skin? The outside belongs to others. Only you should decide for you - WHAT is perfect.

  Ellen Hopkins

  Two, Creating, People

  Ellen Hopkins (2013). “Perfect”, p.1, Simon and Schuster

• When did creating a flawless facade become a more vital goal than learning to love the person who lives inside your skin?

  Ellen Hopkins

  Creating, Goal, Skins

  Ellen Hopkins (2013). “Perfect”, p.1, Simon and Schuster

• I felt angry, frustrated. I felt I didn't belong, not in my church, not in my home, not in my skin. Amidst the chaos, i felt alone, in need of a friend instead of a sister, someone detached from my world. The "woman's role" theory disgusted me. I would soon be a woman, and I knew I could never perform as expected. I was tired of my mom's submission to her religion, to her husband's sick quest for an heir, to his abuse. I was sick of my dad, of reaching for him as he fell farther away from us and into the arms of Johnnie WB.

  Ellen Hopkins

  Mom, Husband, Dad

  Ellen Hopkins (2013). “Burned”, p.67, Simon and Schuster

• Not Exactly True That skin hate is dead. There will never be color blindness in a culture of fear. But when you live afraid of your neighbor, the monster you should most walk in terror of thrives. It starts as a little thing, small enough to burrow into your pores, take up excruciating residence in the dark recesses of your brain. Its name is paranoia, and it spreads like an oil spill, there in the shadows, chokes your humanity. Threatens your soul.

  Ellen Hopkins

  Hate, Dark, Oil

  Ellen Hopkins (2013). “Perfect”, p.325, Simon and Schuster

• Something stirred beneath my skin, some being inside I'd only suspected existed, demon or angel, I couldn't say.

  Ellen Hopkins

  Angel, Skins, Demon

  Ellen Hopkins (2008). “Burned”, p.327, Simon and Schuster

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