The Fault in Our Stars Good Reads
I hate the fact that information technology fabricated me laugh, then hard!
I hate the fact that it made me grinning, so much!
I hate the fact that it made me chuckle, so profusely!
I hate the fact that it gifted me with and so much Laughter, Smiles and Chuckles when I was expecting to come up face to confront with tragedy at any moment....it inverse my expec
I hate the fact that it made me express mirth, so difficult!
I hate the fact that it fabricated me smile, then much!
I detest the fact that it made me chuckle, so profusely!
I hate the fact that information technology gifted me with so much Laughter, Smiles and Chuckles when I was expecting to come confront to face with tragedy at whatever moment....information technology changed my expectations, made me believe in Something which did not happen...or mayhap did happen.
I detest the fact that while Hazel Grace barbarous in dearest the way you fall asleep: slowly, so all at in one case , I just cruel ...no warning, no time to process the myriad emotions coursing through me, nope, nothing, just a huge endless void-filled fall and then a sudden crash that took my breath away, like literally...
I hate the fact that I fell in love with this bound-to-end-in-oblivion, bound-to-cease-in-disaster male child who stared with bluish blue eyes and put the killing thing correct between his teeth, but never gave it the ability to do its killing. (Putting a cigarette right between your teeth and never lighting information technology, yes, that's Augustus Waters for you, people, a guy huge on metaphors and symbolism...that hopeless boy).
I hate the fact that when I least expected it, the story, the words merely grabbed me and pulled me in so deep that even the thought of ever resurfacing never entered my listen.
I hate that the fact that correct in the eye of my dance in the rain of laughter, dry wit, and humour without whatsoever alarm, without whatever lightning as it's precedent, this thunder would stun me, startle me, wipe the grin right off my face up, and sober me up, wake me up from the intoxication of the very real however false jocularity spun by them, a humour which was nothing only human tragedy waiting-to-happen-and-had-already-happened in disguise and then push me dorsum into that pelting to trip the light fantastic toe again.
I detest the fact that I'm not making my much sense right now....that right now my thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations...
And yep, all the hate above is a metaphor, a symbolic word for love... weird, right? But right now I tin can't bring myself to say that I beloved this book....I don't, I don't, I don't (yep, I practice, I exercise, I practice...)
And then, *deep breath*, information technology's a story of a girl named Hazel Grace Lancaster, a girl diagnosed with thyroid cancer at the age of 13 who's still live at xvi cheers to a miracle drug which didn't piece of work it'southward miracle in about 70% of the people but it did work in her.
And then, even though her lungs suck at being lungs, she's all the same alive and well not boot, but breathing, with difficulty (because recall her lungs suck at being lungs), but breathing nevertheless.
She's been nothing but a terminal case ever since her diagnosis. The doctors are but finding ways of keeping her live rather than removing the cancer ridden lungs and replacing information technology with a new one, because allow's confront it, her chances of surviving such an operation are like next to nothing and why waste a proficient pair of lungs on a given, bound-to-fail trunk?
Then, Hazel has never been anything simply terminal, her final chapter inscribed upon diagnosis.
Enter Augustus Waters. He'south 17, gorgeous, in remission, and very frankly and much to her surprise interested in her.
It'south a match fabricated in Cancer Kid Back up Group, in the Literal Heart of Jesus (yous'll know what that means when y'all read the book...y'all'll laugh, trust me, you volition).
He is a tenured professor in the Section of Slightly Kleptomaniacal Smiles with a dual appointment in the Section of Having a Vox That Made My Skin Feel More than Like Peel.
He's the unexpected, hot, gorgeous twist in her story...a story which is about to be completely rewritten...
Their story begins with a staring contest...he stares at her...
And then she stares back...because let'southward face it...
(Spoiler Alarm: She wins.)
And it progresses into something brilliant, something as bright as the stars, into Something with a upper-case letter South....
I detest this book. (This needs indefinite repetitions, I hate information technology).
I detest the fact that I fell in dearest with their always. "Okay"
I hate the fact that Hazel Grace took the words right out of my mouth when she said what she said about beingness a vegetarian...
"I want to minimise the number of deaths I am responsible for,"
and about not knowing what's cool...
"I take a lot of pride in non knowing what's cool."
I hate the fact that I fell in love with this blue-eyed male child who drove horrifically and his cheesy and even so very endearing attempts to exist Prince Charming....(just more so with him...the surprised, excited and innocent side of him..)
"May I see yous again?" he asked. At that place was an endearing nervousness in his vocalization.I smiled. "Certain."
"Tomorrow?" he asked.
"Patience, grasshopper," I counseled. "Yous don't want to seem overeager."
"Right, that's why I said tomorrow," he said. "I want to see you lot over again this night. Only I'm willing to await
all night and much of tomorrow."
I hate the fact that Hazel Grace felt like a grenade and all she wanted to exercise was minimise the casualities when (not if but when) she blew up...
I hate the fact that I felt sorry for a lonely swing fix...a Desperately Lonely Swing Fix Which Needed a Loving Dwelling house...or maybe information technology was simply a Lonely, Vaguely Pedophilic Swing Ready Which Sought the Butts of Children...and the fact that I absolutely love this sentence....
The Solitary Swing Set...
or maybe But Vaguely Pedophilic...
And even though I barbarous in dear the way y'all fall from a cliff or a building, (don't actually know how that feels..since I've never done that)..I hate the way she roughshod in love...
I hate this osculation....because for who then firm that cannot exist seduced?
And so we were kissing. My hand let go of the oxygen cart and I reached up for his neck, and he pulled me up by my waist onto my tiptoes. Every bit his parted lips met mine, I started to feel breathless in a new and fascinating way. The infinite effectually us evaporated, and for a weird moment I actually liked my body; this cancer-ruined thing I'd spent years dragging around suddenly seemed worth the struggle, worth the chest tubes and the PICC lines and the ceaseless bodily expose of the tumors.
I hate the dear letter she wrote him...(Spoiler Alarm: Information technology's a Venn diagram love letter.)
I hate the fact that she did not agree with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs (in which Abraham Maslow, an American psychologist, claimed that sure needs must be met before you tin can even have other kinds of needs.) Something like this...
Unless and until your needs of the previous level have been fulfilled, y'all don't even recollect virtually the needs of the next level. Of course, like all psychological theories this i besides cannot exist generalized or accepted universally. Considering if there is one law in psychology then it is that in that location is no law in psychology, there is no given universal laws for human behaviour or thoughts or anything. Every theory has it's use and flaws, applicative to some while non applicable to others. And this i is not applicable in this situation. Nope, non at all.
I hate the words, the discussion play in this book... a quantum entanglement of tubes and bodies....triumphantly digitized contemporaneity....
I hate the fact that information technology made me laugh so much, smile a lot, fall in dearest so hard just to exact revenge subsequently for giving in to the simulated security of sense of humour and love by making me cry....oh god, weep so much....so much...
Because that'southward the thing most pain, it demands to exist felt.
I become it...totally get it...
I hate the fact that I ever read this judgement...
"I lit up like a Christmas tree, Hazel Grace..." .
I hate it, I really hate it (forget metaphorical resonances, forget symbolism, I actually hate it).
I hate the fact that it made me cry so much that the lovers of-god-knows-which-century entwined on my pillowcase were drenched in the torrent of my tears and were probably ruing the fact that there was no umbrella during their fourth dimension.
I hate the fact that I stayed up whole dark reading this book, one-half of the nighttime crying, and fifty-fifty subsequently finishing it I couldn't get to sleep, then the rest of the dawn simply pacing in my room with all these haphazard, sporadic stars jumping around in my mind finding absolutely no avenue to get constellations.....and my eyes puffy (Notation to self: Do not stay upward all dark or add crying to it if you practice to avoid puffy eyes.)
Why practise I practice this to myself??
And I admittedly hate this...
I hate that this story is stunningly overwhelming, insightful, irreverent, raw and devastating...and to quote Markus Zusak, it'south the kind of story reading which "Y'all laugh, yous cry and then you come back for more than."
Some infinities are bigger than other infinities... ...I'm grateful for having known this little infinity...grateful for this epic love story of two star crossed lovers....
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I like my choices. I hope you like yours.
And by detest you know I meant dear, right?
I love this volume.
Correct at present, my thoughts are also jumbled upward...
Source: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11870085-the-fault-in-our-stars
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