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We have been naive enough to believe that we were invincible that we could run blind through the hairpin turns of life at treacherous speeds and never crash.

Jodi Picoult

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Jodi Picoult
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: May 19
Author
Novelist
Writer
Nesconset
New York
Jodi Lynn Picoult
Turns
Running
Speeds
Enough
Treacherous
Believe
Invincible
Never
Naive
Life
Crash
Speed
Blind

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The saddest day in the world will be the one when she stops pretending.
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Just so you know, when they say once upon a time....they're lying. It's not once upon a time. Its not even twice upon a time. It's hundreds of times, over and over, every time someone opens up the pages of this dusty old book.
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Whether or not you believe in Fate comes down to one thing: who do you blame when something goes wrong.
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I would have given anything to keep her little. They outgrow us so much faster than we outgrow them. Brian Fitzgerald, talking about his children.
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Three months ago, if you asked me, I would have told you that if you really loved someone, you’d let them go. But now I look at you, and I dreamed about Maggie, and I see that I’ve been wrong. If you really love someone, Allie, I think you have to take them back.
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You get through it, you just never get over it
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the letters are mixed up. U and I should be together.
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Pick ten strangers and stick them in a room, and ask them which of us they feel sorrier for - you or me - and we all know who they'll choose.
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Q: How would you like your eggs in the morning? A: Unfertilized
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if you don't get sick, you won't get well.
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There was a difference between people looking at you because they wanted to be like you, and people looking at you because your misfortune brought them one rung higher.
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[I] don't think I was trying to kill myself. I just wanted to hurt, and understand exactly whay I was hurting. This made sense: you cut, you felt pain, period.
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You know, the mind is a remarkable thing. Just because you can't see the wound doesn't mean it isn't hurting. It scars all the time, but it heals.
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Everyone still deserves to have their say.
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Does fate ever play by the rules?
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Raw love, like raw heartache, could blindside you.
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She thought of death like the seam of a hem: each time you lose someone close, it unraveled a little. You could still go along with your life, but you'd be forever tripping over something you previously took for granted.
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Just because you had every right to feel sorry for yourself didn't mean you ever took the opportunity to do so.
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From that point of view, I realized that my hole was not miles deep after all. My father, in fact, could stand on the bottom and it only reached up to his chest. Darkness, you know, is relative.
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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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