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sometimes words are not big enough to contain all the feelings you are trying to pour into them.

Jodi Picoult

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Jodi Picoult
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: May 19
Author
Novelist
Writer
Nesconset
New York
Jodi Lynn Picoult
Sometimes
Trying
Pour
Contain
Words
Bigs
Feelings
Enough

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i know what it's like to wake up thinking you will be able to cast the people who play the starring roles in your life, only to realize that you have to watch it from the audience.
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How far can a person go... and still live with himself.
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It turns out that sharing the past with someone is different from reliving it when you’re alone. It feels less like a wound, more like a poultice.
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Tutoring a four year old to get into an exclusive preschool made as much sense as hiring a swim coach for a guppy.
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What I really want to tell him is to pick up that baby of his and hold her tight, to set the moon on the edge of her crib and to hang her name up in the stars.
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The only person who suffers, when you squirrel alway all that hate, is you.
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When she wanted to escape her life, she read books
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There was no easy switch that she could flip to stem the flow of feelings, no way to drain the memories that pooled like acid in her stomach because her heart no longer knew what to do with them.
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You know someone's right for you when the things they don't have to say are even more important than the things they do.
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Hope and reality lie in inverse proportions, inside the walls of a hospital... Doubt is like dye. Once is spreads into the fabric of excuses you've woven, you'll never get rid of the stain.
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Sometimes we don't know we're dreaming we can't even fathom that we're asleep.
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You give her all your french fries, even when she won't give you back onion rings,' Sophie says. 'And when you say her name it sounds different.' How?' Sophie thinks. 'Like it's covered with blankets.
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But it was like wearing a size five sneakers when your foot is a seven- you can get by for a few steps, and then you set down and pull off the shoes because it just plain much
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They ask, how could this happen here? Well. How could it not happen here?
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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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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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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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He rises over me, a second sun, and fills me with light and heat.
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I start by mulling a question and before I know it, a whole drama is unfolding in my head. Often, an idea sticks before I know what I'm going to do with it.
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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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