Isaac Marion
Isaac Marion
Isaac Marion is an American writer. He is best known as the best-selling author of the "zombie romance" novel Warm Bodies...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionWriter
CountryUnited States of America
growing-up remembers-everything forever
We have to remember everything. If we don't, by the time we grow up it'll be gone forever.
broken people humanity
There’s not really such thing as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ people, there’s just like…humanity. And it gets broken sometimes.
end-of-the-world world ends
Nothing is permanent. Not even the end of the world.
breathing air needs
Breathing is optional, but I need some air.
stupid cynical wool
Peel off these dusty wool blankets of apathy and antipathy and cynical desiccation. I want life in all its stupid sticky rawness.
crush inspirational-love heart
I crush her against me. I want to be part of her. Not just inside her but all around her. I want our rib cages to crack open and our hearts to migrate and merge. I want our cells to braid together like living thread.
zombie flesh teeth
Soft flesh is eaten by hard teeth.
feel-better airports brain
Of course, if I eat all of him, if I spare his brain, he'll rise up and follow me back to the airport, and that might make feel better. I'll introduce him to everyone, and maybe we'll stand around and groan for a while. It's hard to say what 'friends' are any more, but that might be close.
dark doctors age
Are we all just Dark Age doctors, swearing by our leeches? We crave a greater science. We want to be proven wrong.
rigor-mortis world scream
...and we'll see what happens when we say Yes while this rigor mortis world screams No.
stars believe shadow
I can no longer believe in any voodoo spell or laboratory virus. This is something deeper, darker. This comes from the cosmos, from the stars, or the unknown blackness behind them. The shadows in God's boarded-up basement.
ugly monsters exhausted
I sigh inside, so exhausted by these ugly questions, but when did a monster ever deserve its privacy?
song kissing best-effort
It frustrates and fascinates me that we'll never know for sure, that despite the best efforts of historians and scientists and poets, there are some things we'll just never know. What the first song sounded like. How it felt to see the first photograph. Who kissed the first kiss, and if it was any good.
hurt distance eye
I think for a minute. Watching my wife fade into the distance, I put a hand on my heart. "Dead." I wave a hand toward my wife. "Dead." My eyes drift toward the sky and lose their focus. "Want it...to hurt. But...doesn't." Julie looks at me like she's waiting for more, and I wonder if I've expressed anything at all with my halting, mumbled soliloquy. Are my words ever actually audible, or do they just echo in my head while people stare at me, waiting? I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.