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It was nice not having to be the one in control, for a little while. It was nice to be the one who was protected, instead of the one who'd been protecting eveyone else.

Jodi Picoult

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Jodi Picoult
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: May 19
Author
Novelist
Writer
Nesconset
New York
Jodi Lynn Picoult
Protected
Instead
Control
Nice
Else
Littles
Little
Protecting

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What's stronger-the need to uphold the law, or the motive to turn one's back on it?
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And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but the truth in masquerade.
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She felt a cage coming down around her too late she realized that he had her trapped by the heart. And like any unwilling animal that was well and truly caught, she could escape only by leaving a piece of herself behind.
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Oh,that's right. You're a...what did you call it? Ah, a ghost hunter. You don't have to see things to believe them. Adam's gaze locked onto the persecutor's. Maybe you've got that backward, he said. Maybe it's just that I believe things you cant see.
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It doesn't take a whole long life to realize that what we deserve to have, we rarely get.
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They ask, how could this happen here? Well. How could it not happen here?
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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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if i have gained anything over these months, it is the knowledge there is no starting over - only living with the mistakes you've made. but then, caleb taught me long ago you can't build anything without some sort of foundation. maybe we learn to live our lives by understanding, firsthand, how not to live them.
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This is love, I think. A place where people who have been alone may lock together like hawks and spin in the air, dizzy with surprise at the connection. A place you go willingly, and with wonder
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Here I am, wasting away inside a book I wish I could escape, and all she wants to do is stay in the story. If I could talk to this girl Delilah, I’d ask her why on earth she would ever trade a single second of the world she’s in for the one in which I’m stuck
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Maybe I was naïve to think that silence was implicit complacence, instead of a festering question. Maybe I was silly to believe that friends owed each other anything.
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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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But still, it looked completely natural, as if we had been kissing at the ends of sentences for ages, while the rest of the world was still hung up on punctuation.
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Words are like eggs dropped from great heights you can no more call them back than ignore the mess they leave when they fall.
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You’ll tell yourself anything you have to, to pretend that you’re still the one in control.
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Music therapy, to me, is music performance without the ego. It's not about entertainment as much as its about empathizing. If you can use music to slip past the pain and gather insight into the workings of someone else's mind, you can begin to fix a problem.
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If his voice hasn't been the melody of my life, it's been the bass line, so subtle you don't notice it until it's missing.
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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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