We’re here, and then we’re gone, and it’s not about the time we’re here, but what we do with the time.

In the 4th Wave, you can’t trust that people are still people. But you can trust that your gun is still your gun.

The cold stars spun to the ancient rhythm, the august march of an everlasting symphony. They are old, the stars, and their memory is long.

The aliens of ‘The 5th Wave’ are not the aliens we’ve imagined. Not the aliens we’d like to attack us.

But I don’t panic. I don’t bolt like a frightened gazelle. I am more than the sum of my fear. It isn’t fear that will defeat them. Not fear or faith or hope or even...

Nothing makes us love something more than the loss of it.

Yes, my dear child, monsters are real. I happen to have one hanging in my basement.

The spring rains woke the dormant tillers, and bright green shoots sprang from the moist earth and rose like sleepers stretching after a long nap. As spring gave way to summer, the bright green stalks...

Even the most sensitive person can get used to even the most insensitive things.

We regarded each other across an expanse wider than the universe, within a space thinner than a razor’s edge.

One of the joys of a really good book is that you’re so into the world of the book, you forget what you’re looking at is words on a page.

Saben cómo pensáis, pero no saben cómo sentís.

But if I’m it, the last of my kind, the last page of human history, like hell I’m going to let the story end this way. I may be the last one, but I am...

I’ve decided to trust him, but like somebody once said, you can’t force yourself to trust. So you put all your doubts in a little box and bury it deep and then try to forget...

That’s a stupid question,’ said Malachi. ‘Because he didn’t warn him. He didn’t warn anyone.”No, it’s a philosophical question,’ Kearns corrected him. ‘Which makes it useless, not stupid.

Ever since I was young, 14 or 15, I wondered if you could write a book that combined the visceral thrill of watching a movie with the total immersion you feel when you’re inside a...

I am more than the sum of my fear.

In the nineteenth century, The Romantics viewed Nature as benign, a glowing reflection of God’s grace. Now we know better. Nature is brutal and, if it is feminine, she’s not the kind of woman you...

I dab at the blood with some gauze from the kit, fighting back hysterical giggles. I blame it on the unbearable stress, not on the fact that I’m wiping Evan Walker’s ass.

Then the door flew open and Mr. Faulks told us to head over to the gym. I thought that was really smart. Get all of us in one place so the aliens didn’t have to...

Não sei de tudo o que lhe aconteceu entre esse dia no ginásio e agora, mas sei que os Outros conseguiram separar os fracos dos fortes.Os fracos foram levados.É essa a falha no plano-mestre do...

And John Kearns whispered into my ear: “Do you see it now? *You* are the nest. *You* are the hatchling. *You* are the chrysalis. *You* are the progeny. *You* are the rot that falls from...

Sci-Fi is the genre that explored both possibilities: the end of our existential crisis and the end of our existence. My novel, ‘The 5th Wave,’ explores the latter scenario, because, frankly, I believe it represents...

Ya no hay nada que no tenga importancia.

You never know when the truth will come home. You can’t choose the time. The time chooses you.

If you don’t kill all of us all at once, those who remain will not be the weak.It’s the strong who remain, the bent but unbroken, like the iron rods that used to give this...

It’s been a long time since humans were prey animals. A hundred thousand years or so. But buried deep in our genes the memory remains: the awareness of the gazelle, the instinct of the antelope....

I always feel trepidation at the beginning of every project. I worry about so many things. Time to get it right, the skill to do it justice, the will to finish. I also worry about...

We are one, you and I. Brothers in hate, brothers in cunning, brothers in the spirit of vengeance.

The monstrous act by definition demands a monster.

Speaking of fruit, I’m down–I mean, he’s down–to his underwear.

Despair is a wholly selfish response to fortune’s slings and arrows.

This is what the Others have done to us. You can’t band together to fight without trust. And without trust, there was no hope. How do you rid the Earth of humans? Rid the humans...

Crazy people. They never think they’re crazy. Their craziness makes perfect sense to them.

I have a very low tolerance for boredom and often think I would have missed out on books entirely if I’d grown up in the Internet and video game age. Now I enjoy books for...

Self-pity is egotism undiluted, after all—self-centeredness in its purest form.

And, for one– ten thousandth of a second, all of it fell away, the despair and grief and anger and pain and hunger, and the old Ben Parish rose from the dead. The eyes that...

You can only call someone crazy if there’s someone else who’s normal.

I should have bailed. That little voice had my back. That little voice is older than I am. It’s older than the oldest person who ever lived. I should have listened to that voice.

My first favourite book was ‘Are You My Mother?’ A picture book about a lost bird. After that my favourites changed almost yearly. I loved everything by Roald Dahl, but my favourite was probably ‘Charlie...

I think we’re seriously screwed when the men with guns decided to help the bad guys.

…there are more terrifying monstrosities in the world than Anthropophagi. Monstrosities who, with a smile and a comforting pat on the head, are willing to sacrifice a child upon the altar of their own overweening...

It’s almost dawn. You can feel it coming. The world holds its breath, because there’s really no guarantee that the sun will rise. That there was a yesterday doesn’t mean there will be a tomorrow.

I always assumed it owed more to the fact that he didn’t like me.

Is this how humanity waves good-bye?Hell no.

Because if I am the last one, then I am humanity.And if this is humanity’s last war, then I am the battlefield.

‘The 5th Wave’ is sci-fi, but I tried very hard to ground the story in very human terms and in those universal themes that transcend genre. How do we define ourselves? What, exactly, does it...

I prefer not to call them demons. It demeans their nature. “But isn’t that what they are?””We should pity them more than fear them Alfred. They were angels once.””Yea, but didn’t you say they rebelled...

Poets never die, I thought. They just fail in the end.

With an enemy like that, who needs friends?