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How could you go about choosing something that would hold the half of your heart you had to bury?

Jodi Picoult

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Jodi Picoult
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: May 19
Author
Novelist
Writer
Nesconset
New York
Jodi Lynn Picoult
Funeral
Loss
Hold
Half
Death
Heart
Bereavement
Something
Bury
Would
Choosing

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Life can change in an instant.
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Somewhere along the line, organized religion stopped being about faith, and started being about who had the power to keep the faith. You said that the purpose of religion was to bring people together. But does it, really? Or does it-knowingly, purposefully, and intentionally--break them apart?
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Tradionally, parents made decisions for a child, because presumably they are looking out for his or her best interests. But if they are blinded, instead, by the best interests of another one of their children, the system breaks down.
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My first job was as an assistant in the local library. Self fulfilling prophecy?
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When a freedom is taken away from you, I suppose, you recognize it as a privilege, not a right.
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Clearly God was in some kind of mood on my birthday.
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I think you're the only person who gets me. When I'm with you, the world doesn't feel like a problem I can't figure out. Please come to the dance, because you're my music.
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You are only as invincible as your smallest weakness, and those are tiny indeed - the length of a sleeping baby's eyelash, the span of a child's hand. Life turns on a dime, and - it turns out - so does one's conscience.
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What if the one I choose to discount is one who has been truly hurt?
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When you can not find someone, it is because you've been misdirected to look elsewhere
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Who spit in your porridge?
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I don't write the same book over and over - I think if I did that, I would stop writing. I couldn't write a series with the same character, and I couldn't write a romance novel over and over again that takes place at a different beach every year. That's not who I am.
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You know what the difference is between a dream and a goal?... A plan.
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Some people, they get down in a hole so deep they can't figure out what to hold on to.
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The ability to find sparks may be buried so deep in you that you stop believing there's a God. Until someone comes along, with so much light in her that you can't help but see your own, and when you're together,that light grows even brighter.
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Memories are like a still life painted by ten different student artists: some will be blue-based others red some will be as stark as Picasso and others as rich as Rembrandt some will be foreshortened and others distant. Recollections are in the eye of the beholder no two held up side by side will ever quite match.
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I wanted him to feel what I felt when I was with him: that incredible combination of comfort, decadence, and wonder the knowledge that, with just a single taste of him, I was addicted.
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Rest easy, real mothers. The very fact that you worry about being a good mom means that you already are one.
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Things don't always look as they seem.
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Into the silence rips a sound that makes me let go of Max's hand and cover my ears. It is like the strafe of a bullet, nails on a chalkboard, promises being broken. It's a note I have never heard - this chord of pure pain - and it takes a moment to realize it is coming from me.
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