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Why didn't he say goodbye? I gave myself a bruise. Why didn't he say 'I love you'?
Jonathan Safran Foer
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Jonathan Safran Foer
Age: 47
Born: 1977
Born: February 21
Novelist
Writer
Washington
District of Columbia
Gave
Didn
Love
Bruise
Bruises
Goodbye
More quotes by Jonathan Safran Foer
I am always sad, I think. Perhaps this signifies that I am not sad at all, because sadness is something lower than your normal disposition, and I am always the same thing. Perhaps I am the only person in the world, then, who never becomes sad. Perhaps I am lucky.
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I started carrying blank books like this one around, which I would fill with all the things I couldn't say.
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Because it was starting to get dark, and because the streets were crowded, I bumped into a googolplex people. Who were they? Where were they going? What were they looking for? I wanted to hear their heartbeats, and I wanted them to hear mine.
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How did her life live itself without her.
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Books are slow, books are quiet. The Internet is fast and loud.
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While it is always possible to wake a person who's sleeping, no amount of noise will wake a person who is pretending to be asleep.
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Grandfather informs me that is not possible.
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There are two kinds of sculptures. There's the kind that subtracts: Michelangelo starts with a block of marble and chips away. And then there is the kind that adds, building with clay, piling it on. The way I write novels is to keep piling on and piling on and piling on.
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The secret was a hole in the middle of me that every happy thing fell into.
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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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I took the world into me, rearranged it, and sent it back out as a question: Do you like me?
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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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What is suffering? I'm not sure what it is, but I know that suffering is the name we give to the origin of all the sighs, screams, and groans — small and large, crude and multifaceted — that concern us. The word defines our gaze even more than what we are looking at.
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You have to do something bad to do something good.
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She extended a hand that I didn't know how to take, so I broke its fingers with my silence.
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The only thing worse than being sad is for others to know you are sad.
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I'd lost count of the disappointments.
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Why I'm not where you are ...
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One day you will do things for me that you hate. That is what it means to be family.
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August has passed, and yet summer continues by force to grow days. They sprout secretly between the chapters of the year, covertly included between its pages.
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