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
past facts made
The past is made out of facts...I guess the future is just hope.
zombie lips irony
My friend "M" says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can't smile, because your lips have rotted off.
two steps
...wanting change is step one, but step two is taking it.
crazy thinking waiting
I adapt to things quickly, including good things, which I wish I could shut off sometimes. My friends have to keep reminding me how crazy my life has become, and then it hits me fresh and I just slap my forehead and think, "Wait, what... ?"
memories past starting-over
I want a new past,new memories, a new first handshake with love. I want to start over in every possible way.
names missing doe
But it does make me sad that we've forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else's, because I'd like to love them, but I don't know who they are.
cutting
I would like my life to be a movie so I could cut to a montage.
people wish stories
I wish people were willing to dig a little deeper than the surface elements of a premise before tossing one story in with another.
exclamation-marks punctuation-marks long
I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.
sound ears neon
Music? Music is life! It’s physical emotion - you can touch it! It’s neon ecto-energy sucked out of spirits and switched into sound waves for your ears to swallow. Are you telling me, what, that it’s boring? You don’t have time for it?
mind mouths ceilings
In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, everything collapses.
sleep fishing mind
Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasn't been gnawed to bones by nameless beasts below.
love dream sweet
She gathers my half of the blankets around her and curls up against the wall. She will sleep for hours more, dreaming endless landscapes and novas of colour both gorgeous and frightening. If I stayed she would wake up and describe them to me. All the mad plot twists and surrealist imagery, so vivid to her while so meaningless to me. There was a time when I treasured listening to her, when I found the commotion in her soul bitter-sweet and lovely, but I can no longer bear it.
becoming ended personal
'Warm Bodies' ended up becoming one of the most personal relatable things I've written.