The Fault In Our Stars PDF Free Download

The Fault In Our Stars PDF Download Info

The Fault In Our Stars Novel By John Green PDF Free Download, Summary, Kindle, Book Publisher, John Green, Books Like, Study Guide Pdf, Chapter Questions Pdf, Bibliography.

The Fault In Our Stars PDF Free Download

This Is More Of An Author’s Reminder Of What Was Printed In Tiny Print A Few Pages Ago Than It Is An Author’s Note: This Book Is A Fictional Composition. I Invented It. Attempts To Determine Whether Any Facts Hide Inside A Story Are Beneficial To Neither Novels Nor Their Readers. Such Efforts Attack What Is Almost The Foundational Assumption Of Our Species—that Fictional Stories Can Matter. I Value Your Assistance In This Situation.

Late In The Winter Of My Seventeenth Year, My Mother Came To The Conclusion That I Was Depressed, Probably As A Result Of The Fact That I Rarely Left The House, Spent A Lot Of Time In Bed, Read The Same Book Repeatedly, Ate Sparingly, And Spent A Significant Portion Of My Abundant Free Time Contemplating Death. Every Time You Read A Cancer Booklet, Website, Or Other Resource, Depression Is Always Included As A Side Effect Of Cancer. However, Depression Is Not A Complication Of Cancer. Dying Has A Side Effect Called Depression. (Cancer Is Another Symptom Of Dying. Really, Almost Everything Is.) My Regular Doctor Jim Agreed That I Was In Fact Swimming In A Paralysing And Totally Clinical Depression And That As A Result, My Medications Needed To Be Adjusted. He Also Recommended That I Attend A Weekly Support Group. However, My Mother Felt That I Needed Treatment, So She Brought Me There.

This Support Group Had A Changing Cast Of People With Different Tumor-related Illnesses. The Cast’s Rotation: Why? A Consequence Of Dying. Of Course, The Support Group Was Really Depressing. It Had Meetings Every Wednesday In A Stone-walled Episcopal Church With A Cross-shaped Basement. Right At The Centre Of The Cross, Where The Two Boards Would Have Met And The Heart Of Jesus Would Have Been, We All Sat In A Circle. I Noticed This Because Patrick, The Leader Of The Support Group And The Only Person Over The Age Of Eighteen Present, Spoke About The Heart Of Jesus During Every Single Meeting, Going On And On About How We Young Cancer Survivors Were Actually Seated Right Inside Of Christ’s Most Sacred Heart, Among Other Things.

In God’s Heart, It Went As Follows: The Six, Seven, Or Ten Of Us Entered Via Wheelchair, Nibbled On An Unappetizing Selection Of Cookies And Lemonade, Sat In The Circle Of Trust, And Listened To Patrick Recount His Depressingly Miserable Life Story For The Thousandth Time—how He Had Cancer In His Balls And Doctors Believed He Would Die But He Survived, And Now He Is An Adult Living In A Church Basement In The 137th Nicest City In America, Divorced, Addicted To Video Games

And You Could Also Be So Fortunate! Then We Gave Our Names, Ages, And Diagnoses As Introductions. And How We’re Faring Right Now. When They Arrived, I’d Introduce Myself As Hazel. Sixteen. Originally Thyroid, But With A Striking And Well-established Satellite Colony In My Lungs. I’m Doing Ok, Too. Patrick Always Asked If Anyone Wanted To Share After We Completed The Circle. The Circle Of Support Then Began, With Everyone Talking About Fighting, Battling, Winning, Shrinking, And Scanning. Patrick Was Fair To Us And Allowed Us To Discuss Death As Well. The Majority, Though, Weren’t Dying. The Majority Would Reach Adulthood, As Patrick Did. (This Indicated That There Was A Good Deal Of Rivalry There, With Everyone Hoping To Defeat Both The Disease Itself And Their Fellow Participants.

I Realise This Is Irrational, But When They Say You Have A 20% Chance Of Living Five Years, For Example, Math Kicks In And You Figure That’s One In Five. As Any Healthy Person Would, You Take In Your Surroundings And Think, “I’ve Got To Outlast Four Of These Bastards.” This Young Boy Named Isaac, A Long-faced, Skinny Man With Straight Blonde Hair Swept Over One Eye, Was The Only Redeeming Feature Of The Support Group. And The Issue Was With His Eyes. He Had Some Really Unlikely Eye Cancer. When He Was Younger, One Of His Eyes Was Removed, And Now He Wore Thick Glasses That Magnified Both Of His Eyes—the Real And The Glass—to An Unnatural Size, As If His Whole Head Were Essentially Just This Fake Eye And This Real Eye Staring At You. The Little Isaac Shared With The Group On Rare Occasions Led Me To Believe That A Recurrence Had Put His Remaining Eye In Mortal Danger.

I Used Sighs To Communicate With Isaac Almost Exclusively. He Would Glance Across At Me And Sigh Slightly Whenever Someone Brought Up Anti-cancer Diets, Snorting Ground-up Shark Fin, Or Anything Else. I Would Respond By Microscopically Shaking My Head And Exhaling. Support Group Failed, And After A Few Weeks, I Started To Yell And Shout About The Whole Thing. In Fact, On The Wednesday That I Met Augustus Waters, I Did My Best To Avoid The Support Group While Watching The Third Leg Of A 12-hour Marathon Of The Previous Season Of America’s Next Top Model With My Mother, Even Though I Had Already Seen It. I Said, “I Won’t Go To The Support Group.” Mom: “A Lack Of Interest In Activities Is One Of The Symptoms Of Depression.

” Just Let Me Watch America’s Next Top Model, Please. It’s A Thing You Do. Television Is A Passivity, Says Mom. “Ugh, Mom, Please,” I Said. Hazel, You’re A Teenager, Says Mom. You Are No Longer A Little Child. You Must Socialise, Leave The House, And Live Your Life. Me: “Don’t Send Me To A Support Group If You Want Me To Be A Teenager. Purchase Me A Fake Id So That I Can Enter Clubs, Consume Vodka, And Use Pot. “You Don’t Take Pot, For Starters,” Said Mom. I Said, “See, If You Gave Me A Fake Id, I’d Know That Kind Of Thing.” You’re Going To A Support Group, Mom. “Ugggggggggg,” I Said. “Hazel, You Deserve A Life,” Said Mom. That Stopped Me, Even Though I Couldn’t See How Attending A Support Group Fit Into The Definition Of Life. Nevertheless, After Negotiating The Right To Record The 1.5 Episodes Of Antm I Would Be Missing, I Agreed To Attend.

I Attended The Support Group For The Same Reason I Once Let Nurses With Just Eighteen Months Of Graduate Training Poison Me With Chemicals With Exotic Names: I Wanted To Please My Parents. Having A Child Who Bites It From Cancer Is The Only Thing In This World Shittier Than Biting It From Cancer When You’re Sixteen. At 4:56, Mom Parked Her Car In The Circular Driveway Behind The Church. For A Little While, I Pretended To Fiddle With My Oxygen Tank To Pass The Time. Would You Like Me To Bring It In For You? I Said, “No, It’s Ok. It Just Weighed A Few Pounds, And I Had This Little Steel Cart To Wheel It Behind Me. The Cylindrical Green Tank. Through A Cannula, A Clear Tube That Split Just Below My Neck, Wrapped Around My Ears, And Then Reconnected In My Nostrils, It Gave Me Two Litres Of Oxygen Every Minute.

The Need For The Device Arose From My Lungs’ Poor Performance As Lungs. As I Exited, She Said, “I Love You.” Mom, You Too. Come Back At Six.” “Create Friends” As I Walked Away, She Spoke Through The Rolled-down Window. I Chose To Utilise The Stairs Instead Of The Elevator Since Using The Elevator Is A Last-minute Activity At Support Group. I Turned Around After Grabbing A Cookie And Adding Some Lemonade To A Dixie Cup. Unknown Boy Was Observing Me. I Was Very Certain I Had Never Before Seen Him. He Dwarfed The Moulded Plastic Elementary School Chair He Was Sitting On Since He Was Long And Leanly Built.

Short, Straight, And Mahogany Hair. He Seemed To Be My Age Or Perhaps A Year Older. He Sat With His Tailbone On The Chair’s Edge, His Posture Aggressively Poor, And One Hand Partially Tucked Inside A Dark-colored Pocket On His Pants. I Turned My Head Away After Suddenly Realising All Of My Deficiencies. I Was Sporting A Yellow T-shirt Promoting A Band I No Longer Really Cared About Along With Some Worn-out, Once-tight Jeans That Now Sagged In Odd Places. Also, I Didn’t Even Bother To Brush My Hair After Getting A Pageboy Haircut. Furthermore, A Side Effect Of My Treatment Left Me With Ridiculously Fat Chipmunk Cheeks.

I Seemed To Be A Normal-sized Person With A Balloon-shaped Head. Not Even Mentioning The Cankle Situation, This. However, When I Glanced In His Direction, He Was Still Looking At Me. I Now Understood Why They Refer To It As Eye Contact. I Entered The Circle And Took The Seat Two Seats Away From Isaac. I Looked Once More. He Continued To Observe Me. Let Me Just Say That He Was Attractive. Unflinchingly Staring At You From A Nonhot Boy Is, At Best, Awkward And, At Worst, An Assault. However, A Hot Boy. Well. I Took Out My Phone And Pressed The 4:59 Button To Make The Time Appear.

Patrick Then Led Us In The Serenity Prayer: God, Grant Me The Serenity To Accept The Things I Cannot Change, The Courage To Change The Things I Can, And The Wisdom To Know The Difference. The Circle Began To Fill With The Unlucky Twelve To Eighteen-year-olds. The Man Continued To Look At Me. I Felt A Little Flushed. I Finally Made The Decision That Staring Back Was The Best Course Of Action. Boys Do Not, After All, Have A Monopoly On Staring. As Patrick Acknowledged His Lack Of A Ball For The Millionth Time, Etc., I Turned To Look At Him, And Soon A Staring Contest Ensued. After Some Time, The Boy Grinned Before Finally Averting His Blue Eyes. When He Turned To Face Me, I Raised My Eyebrows To Declare Victory. As He Shrugged. When The Introductions Were Finally Ready, Patrick Continued. “isaac, Maybe Today You’d Want To Go First. I Am Aware Of Your Difficult Situation. Yes, Isaac Replied. Isaac Here.

I’m 17 Years Old. And It Seems That I Will Need Surgery In A Few Weeks, At Which Point I Will Become Blind. Not To Complain Or Anything, But Yeah, I Mean, Being Blind Does Kind Of Stink. I Know A Lot Of Us Have It Worse. However, My Girlfriend Is Helpful. In Addition To Augustus’ Friends. He Gave The Boy, Who Now Had A Name, A Nod. “Okay, So,” Isaac Said. He Was Staring At His Folded Hands, Which Resembled The Top Of A Tepee. “You Can’t Do Anything About It,” Patrick Said, “We’re Here For You, Isaac.” “Guys, Let Isaac Hear It.” We Then All Spoke The Same Phrase: “We’re Here For You, Isaac.” Michael Followed. He Was Twelve. The Leukemia He Had. Leukemia Had Always Plagued Him. He Was Ok, Or So He Said.

The Elevator Was Used By Him.) Lida Was 16 Years Old And Attractive Enough To Get The Attention Of The Attractive Boy. She Was A Regular Who Had Appendiceal Cancer, Which I Was Unaware Even Existed, And Had Been In A Long Remission. She Said That She Felt Strong, As She Had Every Other Time I Had Attended Support Group. As The Oxygen-drizzling Nubs Tickled My Nostrils, I Felt As If She Was Bragging.

Before They Reached Him, There Were Five More. When It Was His Turn, He Grinned A Little. His Voice Was Sultry, Low, And Utterly Seductive. He Said, “My Name Is Augustus Waters.” “I’m 17 Years Old. I’m Only Here Today At Isaac’s Request, Despite The Fact That I Had A Little Touch Of Osteosarcoma A Year And A Half Ago. How Are You Feeling, By The Way? Inquired Patrick. I’m Grand, I’m Sorry. With A Little Smile, Augustus Waters Nodded. “My Friend, I’m On A Roller Coaster That Only Goes Up.” My Name Is Hazel, I Said When It Was My Turn. 16 Is My Age. Thyroid With Metastatic Lung Disease. I’m Ok. The Hour Went By Quickly: It Was Agreed That Friends Just Didn’t Get It; Fights Were Recounted; Battles Won Amid Wars Certain To Be Lost; Hope Clung To; Families Were Both Celebrated And Denounced;

Tears Were Shed, And Consolation Was Given. Until Patrick Said, “Augustus, Maybe You’d Want To Share Your Fears With The Group,” Neither Augustus Waters Nor I Spoke Again. My Worries? “yes.” Without Pausing, He Said, “I Fear Oblivion.” “I Dread It Like The Proverbial Blind Man Scared Of The Dark,” The Speaker Said. Isaac Said, Cracking A Smile, “Too Soon.” Was That Sentimental? Inquired Augustus. I Am Not Always Very Sensitive To Other People’s Feelings. Patrick Pointed A Reprimanding Finger At Augustus As Isaac Was Laughing And Said, “Augustus, Please. Come Back To You And Your Struggles Now. You Said You Fear Eternity, Right? Augustus Said, “I Did.” Patrick Acted Disoriented. Would Anyone Like To Speak To That, I Suppose? I Had Missed Three Years Of Formal Education. My Two Closest Friends Were My Parents. The Author Who Was My Third Best Friend Was Unaware Of My Existence. I Was Not The Kind To Raise My Hand, I Was Very Shy. And Yet I Chose To Speak Just This Once.

I Just Half Raised My Hand, And Patrick Immediately Said, “Hazel,” His Delight Obvious. He Must Have Assumed That I Was Opening Up. Getting Included In The Group. I Turned To Face Augustus Waters, Who Turned To Face Me. His Eyes Were So Blue That You Could Almost See Through Them. I Said, “There Will Be A Time When We Are All Dead. All Of Us. There Will Come A Day When No Human Will Be Left To Remember That Our Species Ever Existed Or Did Anything. There Won’t Be Anybody Around To Remember Cleopatra Or Aristotle, Much Alone You.

All Of This Will Have Been For Nothing, And All We Built, Wrote, Thought, And Discovered Will Be Forgotten, I Gestured Encompassingly. Even If We Survive The Collapse Of Our Sun, We Won’t Live Forever. That Time May Be Here Soon Or It May Be Millions Of Years Away. There Was A Period Of Time Before Organisms Had Conscious Experiences, And Another Period Will Follow. And If You’re Worried About The Inevitable Extinction Of Humanity, I Urge You To Ignore It. God Knows Everyone Else Does That. This Was Something I Had Learned From My Third Best Friend, Peter Van Houten, Who Wrote The Book An Imperial Affliction, Which Was The Closest Thing I Had To A Bible. The Only Person I’d Ever Met Who Seemed To Both (A) Comprehend What It’s Like To Be Dying And (B) Not Have Passed Away Was Peter Van Houten.

After I Was Done, There Was A Considerable Amount Of Silence As I Watched Augustus’s Face Fill With A Smile That Was Too Big For His Face And Not The Little Crooked Smile Of The Boy Trying To Be Sexy While Staring At Me. Goddamn, Augustus Muttered. Are You Not Something Else? For The Rest Of The Support Group, None Of Us Spoke. At The Conclusion, Patrick Led Us In Prayer As We All Had To Hold Hands. “Lord Jesus Christ, As Cancer Survivors, We Are Gathered Here In Your Heart, Literally In Your Heart. We Only Know Ourselves As You And You Alone Know Us. During Our Trials, Lead Us To Life And The Light. We Pray For The Eyes Of Isaac, The Blood Of Michael And Jamie, The Bones Of Augustus, The Lungs Of Hazel, And The Throat Of James.

We Ask That You Heal Us And Provide Us The Ability To Experience Your Unfathomable Love And Peace. And We Keep In Our Hearts Those We Knew And Loved Who Have Left For You: Maria And Kade And Joseph And Haley And Abigail And Angelina And Taylor And Gabriel And. The List Was Lengthy. There Are A Lot Of Dead People In The World. And I Kept My Eyes Closed, Trying To Think Prayerfully But Mostly Imagining The Day When My Name Would Find Its Way Into That List, All The Way At The End When Everyone Had Stopped Listening, While Patrick Droned On, Reading The List Off A Sheet Of Paper Since It Was Too Long To Memorise. When Patrick Was Done, We All Said The Stupid Mantra “Living Our Best Life Right Now” Together, And Then It Was Over. Pushing Himself Up From His Chair, Augustus Waters Approached Me. His Smile And Gait Were Both Crooked. I Didn’t Have To Crane My Neck To See Him In The Eye Because He Towered Over Me Because He Kept His Distance.

What’s Your Name, Please? He Enquired. “hazel.” “Your Full Name, Please,” “Hazel Grace Lancaster,” I Guess. When Isaac Approached, He Was About To Say Something More. Augustus Pointed And Said, “Hang On,” Before Turning To Face Isaac. That Was Worse Than You Made It Out To Be, In Actuality. “I Said It Was Dark,” What’s The Point Of Bothering? “I’m Not Sure. It Sort Of Aids? Augustus Leaned Forward So He Could Hear Me Better. She Is A Regular, Right? While Isaac’s Remark Went Unheard By Me, Augustus Replied, “I’ll Say.” He Took Isaac By Both Shoulders Before Backing Away From Him By Half A Step. “Talk About Clinic With Hazel.” Isaac Focused His Huge Eye On Me While Leaning A Hand On The Snack Table. I Went To The Clinic This Morning And Told My Surgeon That I’d Rather Be Deaf Than Blind.

It Doesn’t Work That Way, He Said. I Said, “Yeah, I Realize It Doesn’t Work That Way; I’m Just Saying I’d Rather Be Deaf Than Blind If I Had The Choice, Which I Realize I Don’t Have,” And Then I Realised The I Didn’t Have That Option. The Good News Is That You Won’t Be Deaf, He Said. I Said, “Thank You For Clarifying That My Eye Cancer Won’t Cause Me To Go Deaf. I Feel So Lucky That An Intellectual Giant Like You Would Have The Good Sense To Operate On Me. I Said, “He Sounds Like A Winner.” “I’m Going To Try To Get Some Eye Cancer Just So I Can Get To Know This Guy.” “Good Luck, There. Okay, I Should Go. Waiting For Me, Monica I Must Give Her A Lot Of Attention While I Can. When Will There Be A Counterinsurgence? Inquired Augustus. “definitely.” Isaac Ran Up The Stairs, Two At A Time, After Turning. To Me, Augustus Waters Turned. “Precisely,” He Said. “Precisely?” I Questioned.