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In the end, though, I did not kill my sister. She did it all on her own. Or at least this is what I tell myself.

Jodi Picoult

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Jodi Picoult
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: May 19
Author
Novelist
Writer
Nesconset
New York
Jodi Lynn Picoult
Kill
Least
Though
Tell
Ends
Sister

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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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Normal, in our house, is like a blanket too short for a bed--sometimes it covers you just fine, and other times it leaves you cold and shaking and worst of all, you never know which of the two it's going to be.
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Kid says to me, You play baseball? What position? Left out? and gets a big laugh from the rest of the class. Kid is only one person out of 6.792 billion humans on this planet. This planet is only one-eighth of the solar system, whose sun is one of two billion stars in the Milky Way galaxy. Put it that way, the comment loses it's importance.
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Love [is] supposed to move mountains, to make the world go round, to be all you need, but it [falls] apart at the deatils. It [can't] save a single person.
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What I want, more than anything, is to turn back time a little. To become the kid I used to be, who believed whatever my mother said was one hundred percent true and right without looking hard enough to see the hairline crack.
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By definition, love made you better than good enough it redefined perfection to include your traits, instead of excluding them.
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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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Shooting stars are not stars at all. They re just rocks that enter the atmosphere and catch fire under friction. What we wish on when we see one is only a trail of debris.
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How can you be a survivor, when you can't even remember the war?
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Maybe if God gives you a handicap, he makes sure you've got a few extra doses of humor to take the edge off.
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When you care more if someone else lives than you do about yourself- is that what [love is]?
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Or in other words, it's the substance you've got when you start that determines the outcome.
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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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No one ever asks a kid for her opinion, but it seems to me that growing up means you stop hoping for the best, and start expecting the worst.
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It makes Faith think of a hammock in their yard, a web of rope that she thought would unravel the first time she leaned back on it, but that managed to support her all the same.
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How do you tell someone that you weren't the person he thought you were? And more importantly, how did you tell him that you'd meant the things you'd said, when everything else about you turned out to be a lie.
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How do you know that you are not part of a book? That someone's not reading your story right now?
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When you love someone, you say their name different. Like it's safe inside your mouth.
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My whole life was about her, what if her whole life wasn’t all about me?
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But mostly I wondered why the head could move so swiftly while the heart dragged its feet. I still loved him. It felt like anything else permanent that has gone missing a lost tooth, a severed leg. You might know better, but that doesn’t keep your tongue from poling at the hole in your gum, or your phantom limb from aching.
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