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Quotes Galore : Ignite Me (Shatter Me #3) by Tahereh Mafi

Quotes Galore : Ignite Me (Shatter Me #3) by Tahereh Mafi

 

When it comes to Young Adult books, Shatter Me series is honestly hands down one of my favorite series ever. I have re-read the whole series twice, and had a pretty wide year gap between re-reads and I still enjoyed it like it was the first time. 

The main male character –– Warner –– is honestly just one of the most perfectest (yes, I know this is grammatically wrong) character ever created. He is truly a masterpiece and I love that sexy cinnamon roll with all my heart.

That aside though, I must also mention that, your girl has been in quite a nasty book slump as of late. I have been trying to get back into reading, unfortunately however, the books I picked doesn’t seem to be able to capture my attention whatsoever. 

I was hoping with re-reading the quotes of one of my favorite series, it could spark something in me and make me want to read again. I suppose we shall see. 

 

ignite me quotes

 

ignite me quotes

 

 

Feel free to enjoy the post accompanied by this song :

 

 

 

“I forge forward or die.”

 

Warner laughs out loud. He looks like he might cry.

 

“I am going to kill your father,” I say to him, “and I’m going to destroy The Reestablishment.”

 

He’s still smiling.

 

“I will.”

 

“I know,” he says.

 

“Then why are you laughing at me?”

 

“I’m not,” he says softly. “I’m only wondering,” he says, “if you would like my help.”

 

“I loved making you mad,” he says to me, his eyes wicked. “I love making you mad.”

 

“I was so distracted,” he says, smiling. “Always wanting to spend time with you. Pretending to plan things for your supposed future with The Reestablishment. You were harmless and beautiful and you always yelled at me,” he says, grinning widely now. “God, you would yell at me over the most inconsequential things,” he says, remembering.

 

“Words, I think, are such unpredictable creatures.

 

No gun, no sword, no army or king will ever be more powerful than a sentence. Swords may cut and kill, but words will stab and stay, burying themselves in our bones to become corpses we carry into the future, all the time digging and failing to rip their skeletons from our flesh.”

 

 

Harsh, hard, rasping breaths.

In.
Out.
Count them.

I’ve been here before, I tell myself.

I’ve been lonelier than this, more hopeless than this, more desperate than this. I’ve been here before and I survived. I can get through this.

 

 

 

“You do not understand the choices I have to make. You don’t know what I’ve seen and what I’m forced to witness every single day.” He hesitates. “And I wouldn’t want you to. But do not presume to understand my actions,” he says, finally meeting my eyes. “Because if you do, I can assure you you’ll only be met with disappointment. And if you insist on continuing to make assumptions about my character, I’ll advise you only this: assume you will always be wrong.”

 

“Oh God,” he gasps. He jerks back, breaks away. “I can’t do this. I won’t survive it.”

 

“What?”

 

“I can’t keep doing this—”

 

“Warner—”

 

“I thought I could walk away the last time,” he says. “I thought I could let you go and hate you for it but I can’t. Because you make it so damn difficult,” he says. “Because you don’t play fair. You go and do something like get yourself shot,” he says, “and you ruin me in the process.”

 

“You allow the world to think you’re a heartless murderer,” I tell him. “And you’re not.”

 

He laughs, once; his eyebrows lift in surprise. “No,” he says. “I’m afraid I’m just the regular kind of murderer.”

 

 

Aaron Warner Anderson.

Chief commander and regent of Sector 45, son of the supreme commander of The Reestablishment.

He has a soft spot for fashion.

 

 

“I was willing to let you go if you’d found something extraordinary. Someone who could know you in ways I’d never be able to comprehend. Because you deserve that,” he says. “I told myself you deserved more than me, more than my miserable offerings.”

 

“But this?” he says, appalled. “These words? This explanation? You chose him because he’s kind to you? Because he’s offered you basic charity?”

 

I’m suddenly angry.

 

I’m suddenly mortified.

 

“It’s not charity,” I snap. “He cares about me—and I care about him!”

 

Warner nods, unimpressed. “You should get a dog, love. I hear they share much the same qualities.”

 

“You’re a coward,” he whispers. “You want to be with me and it terrifies you. And you’re ashamed,” he says. “Ashamed you could ever want someone like me. Aren’t you?” He drops his gaze and his nose grazes mine and I can almost count the millimeters between our lips. “You want me,” he says softly, his hands moving up my back, “and it’s killing you.”

 

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Are you scared?”

For a moment I actually want to say no. No, I’m not scared.

I’m petrified.

Because being this close to you is doing things to me. Strange things and irrational things and things that flutter against my chest and braid my bones together.

 

 

 

“You deserve so much more than charity,” he says, his chest heaving. “You deserve to live. You deserve to be alive.” He’s staring at me, unblinking.

“Come back to life, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

“What happened to you, princess? You seem different.”

 

“Bad different?”

 

“Good different,” he says. “Like you finally put your big-girl pants on.”

 

“So, okay, wait, so, how do you know he’s in love with you?”

 

“He just . . . told me.”

 

Kenji stops walking so abruptly I nearly fall over. “No he didn’t. He actually said those words? To your face? Like, directly to your face?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So—so—so wait, so he tells you he loves you . . . and you said? What?” Kenji demands, dumbfounded. “‘Thank you’?”

 

“Whatever.”

 

“Don’t whatever me—”

 

“Whatever,” I say again.

 

“You couldn’t kick my ass if I had ten of them.”

 

Kenji laughs out loud. “Is that a challenge?”

 

“It’s a warning,” I say to him.

 

“Ohhhhhh, so you’re threatening me now? Little crybaby knows how to make threats now?”

 

“Shut up, Kenji.”

 

“Shut up, Kenji,” he repeats in a whiny voice, mocking me.

 

 

“Hey, um, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for a friend of mine,” he says. “Have you seen her? She’s a tiny little thing, cries a lot, spends too much time with her feelings—”

“Shut up, Kenji.”

“Oh wait!” he says. “It is you.”

 

 

“Winston points at my face. His eyes are a little unfocused, and he has to blink a few times before saying, “I like you. It’s pretty nice you’re not dead.”

 

Warner scratches the back of his head. “Do you never get exhausted being so wholly unbearable? You have as much charisma as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill.”

 

 

“I don’t want to live in fear anymore,” I say, hoping I sound stronger than I feel. “I have to fight back,” I tell him. “I thought we wanted the same things.”

 

“No—I wanted you,” he says, struggling to keep his voice steady. “That’s all I wanted. From the very beginning, Juliette. You were it. You were all I wanted.”

 

 

“I head straight into the living room, eager to put distance between me and whatever keeps happening to my head when Warner gets too close. I need air. I need a new brain. I need to jump out of a window and catch a ride with a dragon to a world far from here.”

 

“I really thought you guys were solid,” Kenji finally says to me.

 

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Me too.”

 

“I’m not falling for Warner,” I say quietly.

 

“Sure you aren’t.”

 

“I’m not,” I insist. “I’m just—I don’t know.” I sigh. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

 

“They’re called hormones.”

 

I shoot him a dirty look. “I’m serious.”

 

“Me too.” He cocks his head at me.

 

 

“Have you ever been in love?” I ask, turning on my side to look at him.

He stares up at the sky. Blinks a few times. “Nope.”

I roll back, disappointed. “Oh.”

“This is so depressing,” Kenji says.

“Yeah.”

“We suck.”

 

 

“She looks at that psycho like she’s in love with him,” Adam barks back. “You think I don’t know what that look is? You think I wouldn’t be able to tell? She used to look at me like that.”

 

 

“I was happier,” Adam says, “when I thought she was dead.”

 

“You don’t mean that. Don’t say things like that, man. Once you say that kind of shit you can’t take it back—”

 

“Oh, I mean it,” Adam says. “I really, really mean it.” He finally looks at me. Fists clenched. “Thinking you were dead,” he says to me, “was so much better. It hurt so much less than this.”

 

 

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” The world is blurring away as I watch it through the window. “And I don’t think you’re a psychopath. I also don’t think you’re a sick, twisted monster. I don’t think you’re a heartless murderer, and I don’t think you deserve to die, and I don’t think you’re pathetic. Or stupid. Or a coward. I don’t think you’re any of the things people have said about you.”

 

“You don’t?” His voice is so soft and so scared I can scarcely hear it.

 

“No,” I say. “I don’t. And I just thought you should know. I’m not trying to fix you; I don’t think you need to be fixed. I’m not trying to turn you into someone else. I only want you to be who you really are. Because I think I know the real you. I think I’ve seen him.”

 

Warner says nothing, his chest rising and falling.

 

“I don’t care what anyone else says about you,” I tell him. “I think you’re a good person.”

 

“Maybe we both fell in love with the illusion of something more.”

 

 

 

“Why don’t you understand?” He looks up at me and his eyes are so full of pain and devastation it actually takes my breath away.

My hands are shaking. “Understand what—?”

“I love you.”

He breaks.
His voice. His back. His knees. His face.
He breaks.

He has to hold on to the side of his desk. He can’t meet my eyes. “I love you,” he says, his words harsh and soft all at once. “I love you and it isn’t enough. I thought it would be enough and I was wrong. I thought I could fight for you and I was wrong.

Because I can’t.”

 

 

 

“Please,” I whisper. “I don’t want it to be like this with us. I want us to be able to talk. To get to know each other again, properly—to be friends—”

 

Warner makes a strange sound deep in his throat. Puts a few feet between us. “I am doing my best, love. But I don’t know how to be just your friend.”

 

“I do not have friends,” he says.

 

“Why can’t you try?”

 

He shakes his head.

 

“Why? Why not give it a chance—”

 

“Because I am afraid,” he finally says, voice shaking, “that your friendship would be the end of me.”

 

 

“You once accused me of not knowing the meaning of love,” he says. “But you were wrong. You fault me, perhaps, for loving you too much.” His eyes are so intense. So green. So cold. “But at least I do not deny my own heart.”

 

 

“Hey,” he says, pointing at my face. “I am just saying that I don’t know what to believe anymore. I’ve already been on this merry-go-round. First Adam. Now Warner. Next week you’re going to try and hook up with me.”

 

“One day Adam will realize that what he felt for me was just a crazy kind of desperation. We were two people who really needed someone to hold on to, and we had this past that made us seem so compatible. But it wasn’t enough. Because if it were, I wouldn’t have been able to walk away so easily.”

 

“Because I’m going to be alive, Kenji. I will be alive in ten years, and I’m going to be happy. I’m going to be strong. And I don’t need anyone to tell me that anymore. I am enough, and I always will be.”

 

“You’re not attracted to him?”

 

“I’m attracted to you.”

 

“I’m serious,” he says.

 

“So am I.”

 

 

“Try again,” he says slowly.

“Stay calm. Have faith in yourself. If you don’t believe you can do it,” he says, “you won’t.”

 

 

“His eyes are red-rimmed and a startling, striking shade of green, shining with barely restrained emotion. His face is the picture of so much pain.
I almost can’t breathe.
An earthquake hits my heart then, cracks it right down the middle. And I think here, in him, there is more feeling than any one person should ever have to contain.”

 

“And I promise myself then, in that moment, that I will hold him forever, just like this, until all the pain and torture and suffering is gone, until he’s given a chance to live the kind of life where no one can wound him this deeply ever again.”

 

 

His thumbs two parentheses around my mouth and he pulls me close and he kisses me, kisses me until time topples over and my head spins into oblivion.

 

 

“Nothing matters anymore.
Nothing but this moment and his mouth on my body, his hands on my skin, his kisses in brand-new places making me absolutely, certifiably insane.”

 

“His hands are holding my cheeks, and he pulls back just to look me in the eye and his chest is heaving and he says, “I think,” he says, “my heart is going to explode,” and I wish, more than ever, that I knew how to capture moments like these and revisit them forever.
Because this.
This is everything.”

 

 

“And we are quotation marks, inverted and upside down, clinging to one another at the end of this life sentence.

Trapped by lives we did not choose.”

 

 

 



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