Quote

Sometimes I think the human heart is just a simple shelf. There is only so much you can pile onto it before something falls off an edge and you are left to pick up the pieces.

Jodi Picoult

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Jodi Picoult
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: May 19
Author
Novelist
Writer
Nesconset
New York
Jodi Lynn Picoult
Human
Edge
Humans
Edges
Sometimes
Pick
Heart
Picks
Shelf
Much
Pieces
Pile
Something
Simple
Shelves
Think
Fall
Falls
Thinking
Left
Onto

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Everyone knew that if you divided reality by expectation, you got a happiness quotient. But when you invert the equation - expectation divided by reality - you didn't get the opposite of happiness. What you got, Lewis realized, was hope.
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I would tell them that when you look at a person, you never know what the're hiding.
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I personally subscribe to the belief that normal is just a setting on the dryer.
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I found plain truth very interesting.
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I have always written about subjects that engage me - questions I can't answer myself. They apparently tend to be big moral and ethical issues!
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What makes you walk past thirty-thousand people without a second glance, and then you look at the thirty-thousandth-and-first person and know you'll never take your eyes off her again?
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Crazy girls did this, girls who walked like zombies through YA novels. But. Trixie felt the sting of the skin as it split, the sweet welling rise of blood. It hurt, though not as much as everything else idd.
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words are like nets - we hope they'll cover what we mean, but we know they can't possibly hold that much joy, or grief, or wonder.
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I wonder if you've got a minute. I have many minutes, all of them used toward a common purpose.
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Doctors put a wall up between themselves and their patients nurses broke it down.
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Because hate's just the flip side of love. Like heads and tails on a dime. If you don't know what it feels like to love someone, how would you know what hate is? One can't exist without the other.
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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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As it turns out, you can function while your heart is being torn to shreds.
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Was there a language of loss? Did everyone who suffered speak a different dialect?
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Coop kissed me deeply, drawing my breath from me in a long, sweet ribbon. Perhaps I haven't mentioned it, but I'm an expert when it comes to first steps. Are you, I said. Then tell me how. You close your eyes, Coop answered, and jump.
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When she smiles, it feels like the first warm day of March-- after an eternity of snow, when you suddenly remember how summer feels on the backs of your bare calves & in the part of your hair.
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I can't do this to you,' he said, drawing back. Emily put her hand on his and pulled the gun to her temple. 'Then do it for me,' she said.
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After all, once you know that part of something exists, it stands to reason that the rest of it is somewhere out there, too.
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This must be what an addict feels like, I think, trying to fight the pull of one last, quick read. My fingers itch toward the binding, and finally, with a sigh of regret, I just grab the book and open it, hungrily reading the story.
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My mother walks forward. She's crying, but there's a smile on her face. For God's sake, is it any wonder I can't ever understand what you people are feeling?
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