Hallelujah Quotes

“Your faith was strong, but you needed proof...”
― Leonard Cohen

“I have often noticed that these things, which obsess me, neither bother nor impress other people even slightly. I am horribly apt to approach some innocent at a gathering, and like the ancient mariner, fix him with a wild, glitt’ring eye and say, “Do you know that in the head of the caterpillar of the ordinary goat moth there are two hundred twenty-eight separate muscles?” The poor wretch flees. I am not making chatter; I mean to change his life.”
― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

“There’s a little tagline in there that I throw out to our fans, I like to call them my sinners, and I’m a fellow sinner, and so I think that’s a special little throw-out to them.”
― brendon urie

“There is a religious hallelujah, but there are many other ones[....] When one looks at the world, there's only one thing to say, and it's hallelujah. That's the way it is.”
― Leonard Cohen, The Holy or the Broken: Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, and the Unlikely Ascent of "Hallelujah"

“It's funny, I've decided 'Hallelujah' is a kind of Rorschach test for people, because everyone has a different reaction to it and to what I'm doing. I just sang it, and whatever came out was just natural and spontaneous and maybe that's the best thing, because there's a kind of enigma, both in the meaning of the words and the way Leonard Cohen said them, that catches people's attention.”
― Renée Fleming, The Holy or the Broken: Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, and the Unlikely Ascent of "Hallelujah"

“She used to think alone was the answer. Alone would stop the whispers and the taunts. Alone couldn't get her into any more trouble. Alone meant not getting hurt. Now, she'd give anything to see another human being. To hear someone call her name”
― Kathryn Holmes

“ She remembers standing at her locker, hearing the whispers. Whispers about her. And about Luke. She remembers turning and seeing Dani and Lynn with a group of girls they knew from Yearbook. She remembers not understanding right away. And then Dani stared her down, eyes narrowed to slits. When Hallelujah dropped her gaze, she heard Lynn’s peal of laughter. “So anyway,” Lynn went on, “Luke said . . .”
She remembers the note, in English class. “You knew I liked him.” Dani’s clean cursive. Hallelujah stared at her friend’s back. Dani didn’t turn around. And she didn’t respond to calls or emails in the weeks that followed.
By winter break, Dani was dating Luke. The rumors about Hallelujah had circulated and changed and circulated again. Still, on the first day of the new semester, she mustered up the courage to say something. To warn her former friend about who Luke really was. Dani laughed in her face. Called her jealous. Luke dumped Dani in February. Dani and Lynn still refused to speak to Hallelujah. It was like they’d never been friends at all. ”
― Kathryn Holmes

“Though most cultural observers hadn't noticed it yet, everything was now in place for "Hallelujah" to sweep through the pop landscape. It was a song that had multiple strong, emotional connections with millions of listeners. Its mood was both fixed and malleable, universal and specific. It was familiar enough to resonate, obscure enough to remain cool. Though its most celebrated performer was gone forever, its mysterious creator had come back to the spotlight just in time.
After 2001, whether it signified an individual's solitude (human or monster or otherwise) or a population in mourning, "Hallelujah"—now far removed from Leonard Cohen's initial," rather joyous" intent—was established as the definitive representation of sadness for a new generation.”
― Alan Light, The Holy or the Broken: Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, and the Unlikely Ascent of "Hallelujah"

“Needless to say, the song ["Hallelujah"] was now a climax in every show [of the 2009 Leonard Cohen tour], received like holy scripture. It belonged in a category with seeing Bob Dylan sing "Like a Rolling Stone" or watching Bruce Springsteen perform "Born to Run"—it was an event that people simply wanted to witness, to say they had seen. It took on a power that had to do with the song's history first, its feeling second, and its details hardly at all. Every performance carried with it a sense of where this song had been, who had sung it,where and how every listener had first encountered it; it had reached a place where it was something to be experienced, rather than listened to.”
― Alan Light, The Holy or the Broken: Leonard Cohen, Jeff Buckley, and the Unlikely Ascent of "Hallelujah"

“Someone else out there?” Luke squints in Hallelujah’s direction. He stands. He steps over his log bench and pushes past Rachel. Hallelujah can’t move, can’t breathe, and in four more steps, Luke has her by the arm. He’s marching her into the light.
When he sees who it is, he drops her arm quickly, looking disgusted. “Hallie. You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Behind him, Brad’s on his feet. “Well, glory, Hallelujah!” he whoops. The girl next to him shushes him, and he lowers his voice. But he keeps talking, giving his words a preacher-at-a-revival ebb and flow. “I never thought, Hallelujah, I’d see the day, Hallelujah, where you’d have the guts to show up here, Hallelujah,praise Jesus—”
“Give it a rest,” Luke says.
“What, it’s only funny when you do it?”
“Nah, she’s always funny,” Luke says, looking back at Hallelujah, dismissing her with a roll of his eyes. “You just aren’t. You never do that joke right.” He walks back to his seat. He glances at Rachel. “Turns out, there’s a seat for you right here, next to me.” He pats the unclaimed bit of log to his right.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“After a few minutes, she speaks up again. “You’re next. Sing.”
Anxiety grips Hallelujah’s chest, squeezing. “I don’t sing,” she says.
“C’mon, it doesn’t matter if you’re bad. It’s not like this is a concert hall—”
“She’s not bad.” Jonah’s back. “She has a great voice.”
Rachel swings around to look from Jonah to Hallelujah. “Really? Now you have to—”
“No."
“But—”
“I don’t sing,” Hallelujah repeats, turning away.
Jonah joins them by the fire. The silence stretches out. Except it’s not really silent, not with the birds and wind and fire and how loud Hallelujah’s heart is beating. And then Jonah clears his throat. “You used to sing,” he says. “You were great.”
Hallelujah ignores the compliment. She looks into the fire. She feels the last of the day’s happiness fading away, already a memory.
“Why’d you quit?” Jonah asks. “Was it ’cause of Luke?”
Hallelujah inhales deeply. She feels the familiar spark of anger in her gut. “Yes,” she says. “It was because of Luke. And you. And everyone else. So thanks for that.” Jonah’s face drops. She can see that she’s hit a nerve. Well, he hurt her first. The way he took Luke’s side, shutting her out. The loss of his friendship, when she needed a friend most. The loss of their voices harmonizing, when she needed music most. How she just hurt him can’t begin to compare to all of that.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“He’s looking at her with so much compassion. Like he knows what she’s going through. Like he cares about her. This is what she wanted to see after everything happened with Luke. Instead, she saw Jonah’s back, every time he turned and walked away from her.
She blurts, “Why are you being nice to me?"
She regrets it immediately. It’s the vulnerability talking. The fear. The adrenaline. For a second, she forgot the aloof, thick-skinned Hallelujah she needs to be.
Jonah relaxes his grip. He looks away, out into the wet woods. He waits a long time before speaking. “Luke told me.”
Hallelujah is instantly tense. “Luke told you what?”
Another long pause. “That he lied. About what happened that night.”
“What happened?” Rachel cuts in. “What’d Luke lie about?”
Hallelujah ignores her. She stays focused on Jonah, even though he won’t look at her. “What’d he tell you originally?”
Jonah flinches. “He made it . . . worse. Than what he told the adults. He said that that wasn’t the first time. And he said that you—”
“Never mind,” Hallelujah cuts in. “I can guess.” She’s heard the rumors. The persistent ones and the surprising, weird, creative ones. She bets there are a lot that she hasn’t heard, too. “None of that happened,” she says softly but firmly, certain without even knowing exactly what Luke said. What Jonah heard. “None of it.”
“That’s what he told me yesterday. I wanted to know why he was still—” He swallows, his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “I’d heard him and Brad laughing about what they were gonna do to you this week, and I was like, enough is enough. Time to let it go. So I asked him what was up. Why he was still messing with you.”
“And?” Hallelujah asks.
“And he told me the truth: that he’d made most of it up. He said he had to keep you quiet. Plus, um. He said messing with you was fun.”
Hallelujah lets that sink in. “You really didn’t know it was a lie? You believed him this whole time?”
Jonah suddenly looks right at her. His eyes plead. “I saw you, Hallie. And Luke was the only one of the two of you with a story to explain it.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“She remembers talking to God a lot right after everything happened with Luke. She remembers crying and asking why, over and over. Asking for help, for strength, for understanding. Apologizing for what she did wrong. Talking through everything she could have, should have done differently. Begging for the torment to stop.
She remembers belief and trust slowly turning sour. Still, she kept talking to God out of habit. And because she didn’t have anyone else to talk to. At night, in the dark sanctuary of her bedroom, alone, she could say the things she’d been keeping quiet. But she stopped expecting an answer. Stopped hoping for one.
After a while, God felt as distant, as uncaring, as everyone else.
And her prayers faded away.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“Hallelujah can barely breathe through the pain of each step. Rachel is panting from the effort of holding Hallelujah up. Still, when they get closer to the clearing, Rachel manages to call out: “Jonah! Help!”
There’s a rustling noise up ahead. Twigs snapping. And then Jonah appears. His face is in shadow, but his voice is worried: “What happened?”
“I turned my ankle,” Hallelujah says. “I’m okay.”
“She’s not okay,” Rachel gasps. “She can’t put weight on it. Can you carry her?”
Jonah doesn’t hesitate. He wraps one arm around Hallelujah’s waist, and then he scoops up her legs with the other. In a single, fluid motion, she’s off the ground. She holds on to his shoulders. For a second, she thinks about how strange this is—to be held like this, to be held by Jonah.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“Jonah is something. Jonah’s opinion matters. And she doesn’t want him to hurt because of her.
She and Jonah will never be what they were. Too much has happened. But maybe they could become something else.
She decides to take the first step. “Jonah,” she says.
He looks over at her. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice low.
“Don’t be. I forgive you,” she tells him. It sounds so formal. I forgive you. But it helps to say it out loud.
“Thanks. I don’t know if I deserve that. But thanks.”
“You do. Of course you do.” Hallelujah says it firmly. “And—I want to.” I’ve missed you, she adds silently. She’s not ready to say that part. Not yet.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“Open the bag, open the bag, open the bag!” he says, bounding through the thigh-deep water. She does. He dumps the second fish inside, and she zips it closed.
“I didn’t know you could do that!” Hallelujah calls out as Jonah splashes away from her again.
“Neither did I!” He lunges sideways with a loud whoop, misses his footing, and sits down in the water. He’s up again in a second, shaking himself off like a dog. “But I’m not going to stop until the fish get smart enough to figure out what I’m doing and—” Lunge. Splash. Up. Shake. “—run away!”
“Run?”
“Whatever!”
― Kathryn Holmes

“Jonah’s hair sprays water each time he flips around, in search of another fish. Droplets shimmer on his skin. He’s really cute. And Hallelujah can’t help but think about last night. About him liking her. He flashes her a smile, and something inside her swoons.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“Jonah peels off his wet shirt and spreads it out on the ground in the sun. For a second, all Hallelujah can see is his bare skin. She blushes and looks away, not turning back until she hears the zip of his jacket closing. Now he’s looking at her. She doesn’t know if he caught her staring.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“Rachel’s the first one to speak. “So—he told you.”
“Told me what?”
“Come on, Hal. What’s changed since yesterday?” Rachel sneaks one arm out of her jacket cocoon to give Hallelujah a soft punch in the shoulder. “I may not be at my best right now, but I’m not blind.” She pauses. “Or deaf.”
Hallelujah feels her face get hot. “Oh. What did you hear?”
“Bits and pieces. I was really out of it last night, after . . . whatever that was. After almost freezing to death.” Rachel shudders. “I have to say, it was totally obvious from the get-go that Jonah liked you.”
“It was?” Hallelujah is still surprised. She still doesn’t quite believe it.
“Um, yeah. Or did you think he’s out here for me?” Rachel says slowly, as if to a child, “You followed me. He followed you.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“So how did you think about him?” Rachel asks.
Hallelujah shrugs. “We were friends. Good friends. He knew—knows—a lot about me. I guess I know a lot about him. Stuff he likes and doesn’t like.”
Rachel looks skeptical. “And yet you never knew he liked you.”
“No! I mean—when Jonah and I were friends, I liked Luke. So maybe I missed some signs.”
“So you just . . . hung out? Platonically?”
“Yeah. I guess.” Hallelujah thinks about how to explain it. How to distill a friendship down to its most basic components. “We had choir together last year. We talked. For kind of the first time, even though we’d been in church and school together since fourth grade.”
“And, what, you found out you had so much in common?”
“Actually, no. But we started comparing music we liked, and a month into ninth grade, Jonah made me this mix of songs. Based on what we’d talked about. So then I made him a mix. And it grew from there. We’d go to each other’s houses, watch movies, listen to music, that kind of thing. Hanging out.”
“So tell me about Jonah. Something only you know.”
“Um. He’d probably deny it, but he got really into the Harry Potter books. Like, really into them. I loaned him my box set last spring. He got so mad at me for not warning him how Book Six ends.”
Rachel laughs. “He didn’t see the movies?”
“No. But I told him we couldn’t watch them until he’d finished the books.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“So what was Jonah like before high school? As a kid?”
“As a kid?” Hallelujah brings up the picture in her mind. “He was . . . sweet, I guess. Dorky. He’d wear these outfits his mom picked out—pleated khaki pants and polo shirts, with his hair slicked down with gel. And he would get really enthusiastic about things. Too enthusiastic. He went through this cowboy phase where he wore a cowboy hat and boots to school every day. Didn’t care what anyone thought.” The mental image makes her smile.
“And he and Luke were best friends?”
“Starting in middle school, yeah. They played soccer together.”
“Huh.” Rachel pauses. “So when did Jonah get cute?”
“He was still pretty short in middle school. And skinny. But he did start dressing better.”
“No more pleated khakis?”
“No more pleated khakis. And then the summer before ninth grade, he had this growth spurt. And he started to, uh, fill out. So I guess ninth grade is when I noticed . . .” Hallelujah fades off. “This is embarrassing.”
“No, it’s not. This is what girls talk about.” Rachel grins. “Besides. I wanted to see if you were paying as close attention to him as he was to you.”
“I didn’t realize I was. We were just friends.”
“You can be friends and still objectively notice someone’s cuteness.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“Rachel inches over until they’re huddling together. “Do you like him back? Now?”
The answer’s just as automatic as the apology. Still, it comes out as a whisper: “Yeah.” She takes a deep breath, gives voice to some of the noise in her head. “But what if I’m just feeling this because we’re out here and it’s scary and he feels safe? Or what if I’m just relieved to have my friend back, but I don’t like him like him? I don’t even know why he’d choose me. Then or now.”
Rachel drops her head down onto Hallelujah’s shoulder. She nuzzles into Hallelujah’s neck, like a cat. “Hal, despite the giant prickly wall you’ve put up around yourself with the neon Off Limits sign flashing at the gate—”
Hallelujah lets out a small laugh at this picture of herself.
“—you’re nice. Like I said when I told you about my parents, you listen. And you care. Which is more than I can say for about three-quarters of the high school population. And you’re pretty. And while I’ve never heard you sing, obviously Jonah likes that about you.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“Jonah shifts to lean back a little farther, moaning as he does. “Holy heck, my leg hurts,” he says, still with that strained, forced lightness.
Again, Hallelujah mimics his tone. “‘Holy heck’? That’s cutting it close.”
“I have a gash in my leg the size of the Mississippi. I can say whatever I want.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“ She remembers the last perfect evening before everything happened, perfect even though she didn’t know everything was about to change. Karaoke night. A bunch of kids from choir cheering each other on. When it was her turn, Hallelujah belted out “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” She went for every melodramatic note, closing her eyes and beating her chest. She got the whole group to sing along.
She remembers Jonah taking the stage next. When he sang the opening lines to Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places,” the room went nuts. He put on a cowboy drawl and sent the low notes reverberating through the wooden floorboards. She remembers him tipping an imaginary Stetson at her when he was done.
In a week, Hallelujah would get caught making out with Luke Willis. He would humiliate her and start spreading lies about her. She would become someone quiet and sad and resentful. But right then, performance-flushed and surrounded by friends, she couldn’t stop smiling. ”
― Kathryn Holmes

“She stands there for a second, watching the bear go. The morning light has truly arrived, and she can see the bear clearly, smaller and smaller and then hidden by trees.
She starts to tremble. She staggers. Falls off the log, hitting the ground hard. The panic-breath is back. Her eyes well up, and for a second she can’t see anything, just her own tears. And she can’t breathe. And she’s shaking all over, jerky and painful, like Rachel was when she got too cold.
“Hallie!” She hears her own name as if from a distance, through the roar of blood in her head. “Hallie, come here. Hallie!”
It’s Jonah’s voice.
There’s something else: a low, keening, gasping sound.
“Hallie! I can’t get over to you. You have to come to me.”
It takes her a second to realize what he’s saying. And to realize that the keening, the gasping, is her. She blinks enough to see Jonah reaching out for her.
She pulls herself in that direction. Her arms feel like newborn faun legs, spindly and weak. She has no strength left. The bear took it.
Jonah’s arms go around her. He pulls her to his chest.
“Hey,” he says. “Hey, it’s okay. You did it. It’s gone. It’s okay.”
He rocks her like a baby, holds her like she held him last night. There’s no self-consciousness left. Just arms holding and voice soothing and hearts beating, and the hysteria passes and she drops off to sleep.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“Are you hurt?” the woman asks.
“Just my—” Even after the water, her voice comes out as a dry hiss. She clears her throat and tries again. “Just my ankle.”
“Can you tell us where the others are? Are they . . . ?” Charlie fades off, but she knows how the question ends.
“They’re still out there. Still alive.” Hallelujah will not think about the alternative. But by not trying not to think about it, she’s thinking about it, and it’s making her feel panicky. “I was the only one who could walk, so I—” She gulps. Draws in a shaky breath.
Charlie dismounts his bike and squats down next to her. “Go on,” he says. His voice is soft. His accent is southern. But not hillbilly southern. Deep South. He’s not from around here either.
She can’t believe her mind is wandering like this. She tries to focus.
“We found—Jonah found a trail, and I followed it to this road. They’re at a campsite by the trail. I . . .” Hallelujah falters. “I don’t know how far. I wasn’t walking very fast. We haven’t eaten in . . . a while. And Rachel—she’s sick. She was throwing up. And Jonah cut his leg and it wouldn’t stop bleeding. . . .”
“Jesus,” the woman says.”
― Kathryn Holmes

“Steady there,” he says. His brow is furrowed. His eyes are deep-set and sad. “You can ride with me. All you have to do is sit and hold on. Okay?”
Hallelujah nods. And then what he’s saying actually sinks in. They’ll be riding away from Jonah and Rachel. She can’t do that. She can’t. Her breath starts coming faster. “We have to go back,” she says, her voice cracking. “I can’t leave. I have to go get them. I promised.” Breath in, out, in, out, in, out. “I promised!”
Charlie has her by both shoulders. “Hallelujah. Calm down. It’s gonna be all right.”
“We have to go back!” Hallelujah repeats, almost sobbing now. “Please!”
― Kathryn Holmes

“I have to tell you something." Jonah spreads his jacket over the three of them. Hallelujah tucks the sleeve under her body. It’s like they’re being held together. Embraced.
“I—” He takes a deep breath. “I really liked you. The whole time you liked Luke, I . . . I liked you. I was even going to ask you to ride on the ski lift with me in the fall, but Luke told me you’d already asked him.”
Hallelujah is genuinely surprised. “He asked me.”
“I know that now. I didn’t know it then. And you didn’t exactly look like you minded riding with him. Kissing him. And then when we walked in on you two—uh—making out—”
“We were not making out,” Hallelujah cuts in. “I mean, not any more . . .”
“Right. But like I said, I didn’t know that. You were practically on top of him, and you looked like—and Luke said it was all your idea, and you didn’t say anything, not then and not after—” He breaks off. Picks up again. “I didn’t like thinking about you doing something like that. I was mad. I wanted it to be me. That’s why I didn’t stand up for you. I liked you,” Jonah repeats”
― Kathryn Holmes

“But you don't really care for music
DO YOU?”
― Leonard Cohen

“Or maybe they were spy stations, saying things in code—every fourth Hallelujah could mean the coup d’etat is one step closer; every Amen another reformer in shackles, being led down urinated hallways in the night.”
― Jeff Arch, Attachments