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I'm always writing, even when I'm not at my desk. I write on my hands. I used to write on my kids' hands, too, but they don't let me any more. When I'm driving I sometimes write all the way up my arms.

Jodi Picoult

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Jodi Picoult
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: May 19
Author
Novelist
Writer
Nesconset
New York
Jodi Lynn Picoult
Hands
Kids
Used
Sometimes
Desk
Writing
Desks
Even
Driving
Way
Arms
Always
Write

More quotes by Jodi Picoult

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The legal system works really well, if you communicate a certain way. But if you don't, it all goes to Hell in a handbasket really quickly.
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Me, I was already jaded and tarnished, skeptical that a fantasy world could keep reality at bay.
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You can fool yourself, you know. You'd think it's impossible, but it turns out it's the easiest thing of all.
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I don’t think anyone who falls in love has a choice. You’re just pulled to that person like true north, whether it’s good for you or bound to break your heart.
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I don't believe in writer's block. Most of writer's block is having too much time on your hands. My mantra is that you can always edit a bad page you can't edit a blank page.
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There is a gulf as wide as an ocean between should and want, and I am drowning in it.
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The best place to cry is on a mother's arms.
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I wondered about the explorers who'd sailed their ships to the end of the world. How terrified they must have been when they risked falling over the edge how amazed to discover, instead, places they had seen only in their dreams.
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What he did was wrong. He doesn't deserve your love. But he does deserve your forgiveness, because otherwise he will grow like a weed in your heart until it's choked and overrun. The only person who suffers, when you squirrel away all that hate, is you.
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How foolish it is to run away with a man who's already run away with someone else.
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You know how every now and then, you have a moment where your whole life stretches out ahead of you like a forked road, and even as you choose one gritty path you've got your eyes on the other the whole time, certain that you're making a mistake.
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To say there had been a loss was ludicrous one lost a shoe or a set of keys. You did not suffer the death of a child and say there was a loss. There was a catastrophe. A devastation. A hell.
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I wondered why the head could move so swiftly while the heart dragged its feet.
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Everyone has a book inside of them - but it doesn't do any good until you pry it out.
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It seems to me that no matter what religion you subscribe to, acts of kindness are the stepping-stones to making the world a better place--because we become better people in it.
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Scars are just a treasure map for pain you've buried too deep to remember.
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Does fate ever play by the rules?
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I imagine the touch of someone who loves you so much, he cannot bear to watch you sleep and so you wake up with his hand on your heart.
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newborns reminded her of tiny buddhas
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It is so easy to presume that while your own world has ground to an absolute halt, so has everyone else's.
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