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Every night before putting her to sleep, Yankel counts her ribs, as if one might have disappeared in the course of the day and become the seed and soil for some new companion to steal her away from him.
Jonathan Safran Foer
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Jonathan Safran Foer
Age: 47
Born: 1977
Born: February 21
Novelist
Writer
Washington
District of Columbia
Sleep
Seed
Away
Companion
Night
Stealing
Become
Soil
Might
Seeds
Ribs
Every
Putting
Disappeared
Courses
Counts
Course
Steal
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Am I such a bad person for dreaming of a world that ends when I do? I don't mean the world ending with respect to me, but every set of eyes closing with mine.
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Which, then, brings us closer to what we want to communicate: saying what we intend, or trying to say the opposite?
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Maybe I'll try to be more patient with morons.
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I went to the guest room and pretended to write. I hit the space bar again and again and again. My life story was spaces.
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You can call your turkey organic and torture it daily.
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Food is not rational. Food is culture, habit, and identity.
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But I dig Negroes. I dig them all the way.
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It is unrealistic to think you can have an inflexible identity that never has to give or take or make compromises.
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I never confused what I had with what I was.
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We shared the smile of recognizing ourselves in each other.
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Chickens can do many things, but they cannot make sophisticated deals with humans.
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Flea-Market vendors are frozen mid-haggle. Middle-aged women are frozen in the middle of their lives. The gavels of frozen judges are frozen between guilt and innocence. On the ground are the crystals of the frozen first breaths of babies, and those of the last gasps of the dying.
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Factory farming, of course, does not cause all the world's problems, but is is remarkable just how many of them intersect there.
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Thanksgiving is the holiday that encompasses all others. All of them, from Martin Luther King Day to Arbor Day to Christmas to Valentine's Day, are in one way or another about being thankful.
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I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to shout myself into his ear.
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I write because I want to end my loneliness. Books make people less alone. That, before and after everything else, is what books do. They show us that conversations are possible across distances.
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You are the only one who has understood even a whisper of me, and I will tell you that I am the only person who has understood even a whisper of you.
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Why didn't he say goodbye? I gave myself a bruise. Why didn't he say 'I love you'?
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