The Maze Runner trilogy by James Dashner

He wanted to know who he was, where he came from. But that desire was tempered by fear of what he might find out about himself. About his role in the very things that had brought him to this point.


Do you ever find yourself in the middle of something and you don't like where it's going, but it's easier to just continue or it feels like it's too late to back out? And before you know it, you're somewhere you never thought you would be, for better or for worse.

I confess that I watched the film before I read the book (♥ Ki Hong Lee ♥ Dylan O'Brien ♥). After having seen both, I wish that I had started with the book, not because the film wasn't good (I liked it), but because I wanted to experience the story for the first time, I wanted to figure out the mystery of the maze with the runners. But no matter. As they uncover the mystery of the maze, they also recover bits and pieces of their stolen memories, of their past lives, but maybe some things are easier left unknown.

It must be pretty scary turning up in an unknown place with your memories wiped. But it can also be an opportunity. It would give us no option but to think for ourselves. Unclouded by the propaganda we've been socialized into believing, unclouded by the excuses we've told ourselves, we can see everything from a new perspective with a fresh eye.

And thankfully this is something we can do without wicked scientists wiping our memories. Just take a step back and ask yourself, are you someone your younger self would look up to? If you are, then yay! If you aren't, then do something about it. Take yourself to the next point; take yourself onward.

tl;dr-- Things happen and you find yourself somewhere you never thought or wanted to be, but you have no one to blame but yourself. Before you get to that point, check yourself and ask, are you someone your younger self would look up to?


He scrambled to his feet and walked around the tree, craning his neck for a sign of whatever he’d heard, but he saw only bare branches, gray and brown, forking out like skeleton fingers—and looking just as alive.

His memory loss was strange. He mostly remembered the workings of the world—but emptied of specifics, faces, names. Like a book completely intact but missing one word in every dozen, making it a miserable and confusing read.

The feeling that things would be okay made him slightly uneasy.

He reached down and rubbed his right ankle absently, a brief look of pain flashing across his face. The look made Thomas think it was more from the memory, not any actual physical pain he still felt.

Newt had given him a stare so harsh Thomas thought Chuck might spontaneously combust.

You’re the shuckiest shuck-faced shuck there ever was.

A fear he had never known filled him to the point of insanity.

It seemed as if all the realities of living there had finally settled in his mind, like hearing a final diagnosis of terminal cancer.

Sadness filled him like a heavy poison.

Are they changed because they want to go back to their old life, or is it because they’re so depressed at realizing their old life was no better than what we have now?

Avoiding other people was his new goal in life.

If it weren’t for the little fact they were torn apart from friends and families and trapped in a Maze with a bunch of monsters, it could be paradise.

As bad as things were, giving up would only make them worse.

Forgetting about you was the worst part.

Fear seemed to hover in the air like a blizzard of black snow.

Tommy, I might not be the sharpest guy in the Glade, but sounds like you’re talkin’ straight out your butt to me.

You’re human. You should be scared.

He finally pulled it all back into his heart, sucking in the painful tide of his misery.

A long stretch of silence followed, though somehow Thomas could still sense her presence. He felt her. It was almost like how, even though he couldn’t see Minho, he knew his friend lay only a few feet above him. And it wasn’t just the snoring. When someone is close by, you just know it.

He fought the deep sleep that had consumed him, clawed at the heavy weight pinning him down.

“Really, genius?” Minho said, his powerful arms folded and tensed, veins bulging all over the place. Thomas thought for a split second he could actually see the blood pumping through them.

He still felt her absence; it was like waking up one day with no teeth in your mouth. You wouldn’t need to run to the mirror to know they were gone.

Never before had silence seemed to have its own sound.

Why do you even bother asking questions, dude? Nothing has ever made sense and it probably never will.

Hunger. It’s like an animal trapped inside you.

Thomas opened his eyes, amazed he’d survived another nap without dying.

Sometimes what you see is not real, and sometimes what you do not see is real.

We were way more than close. Things happened. We remembered stuff. Made new memories.

He wanted to know who he was, where he came from. But that desire was tempered by fear of what he might find out about himself. About his role in the very things that had brought him to this point.

Sometimes I wonder. If being alive matters. If being dead might be a lot easier.

And the more he talked, the crazier it seemed that he was sharing it. Yet he kept talking because he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

That’s one sharp knife. Makes me like you more.

He hurt inside for so many reasons.

False hope. Guess that’s better than no hope at all.

He didn’t like himself very much anymore. He wasn’t sure when he’d reached this turning point. But something had cracked within him.

What was the point of even having a conversation when words couldn’t be trusted?

PS: the best of sherlock holmes