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Everything that's born has to die, which means our lives are like skyscrapers. The smoke rises at different speeds, but they're all on fire, and we're all trapped.
Jonathan Safran Foer
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Jonathan Safran Foer
Age: 47
Born: 1977
Born: February 21
Novelist
Writer
Washington
District of Columbia
Different
Speed
Like
Fire
Dies
Skyscrapers
Lives
Speeds
Born
Skyscraper
Means
Rises
Everything
Trapped
Mean
Smoke
More quotes by Jonathan Safran Foer
To remember my values, I need to lose certain tastes and find other handles for the memories that they once helped me carry.
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Be the instrument playing the sound of your life's passing
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Then I have some bad news for you, because humans are going to destroy each other as soon as it becomes easy enough to, which will be very soon.
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Jed Perl writes precisely and ecstatically. Antoine' s Alphabet is a history and a fairy tale, a work of criticism, and a work of art.
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Books are for those without real lives, he thought. And they are no real replacement.
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I've never particularly liked bankers.
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Hunting will never feed lots of people it will always be a hobby.
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I dreamt four nights ago of clock hands descending from the universe like rain, of the moon as a green eye, of mirrors and insects, of a love that never withdrew. It was not the feeling of completeness that I so needed, but the feeling of not being empty.
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Everyone performs bad actions... A bad person is someone who does not lament his bad actions.
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Maybe I'll try to be more patient with morons.
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And yet and yet - the last secret of the tree of codes is that nothing can ever reach a definite conclusion. Nowhere as much as there do we feel possibilities shaken by the nearness of realization. The atmosphere becomes possibilities and we shall wander and make a thousand mistakes. We shall wander along yet not be able to understand.
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I felt suddenly shy. I was not used to shy. I was used to shame. Shyness is when you turn your head away from something you want. Shame is when you turn your head away from something you do not want.
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As long as I am thinking, I am alive.
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Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love? Why does anyone ever make love?
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I am willing to be annoying if that's what was necessary.
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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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So many people enter and leave your life! Hundreds of thousands of people! You have to keep the door open so they can come in! But it also means you have to let them go!
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Why do I write? It's not that I want people to think I am smart, or even that I am a good writer. I write because I want to end my loneliness.
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I always write out of a need to read something, rather than a need to write something.
Jonathan Safran Foer
I realized that your mother couldn't see the emptiness, she couldn't see anything...All of the words I'd written to her over all of those years, had I never said anything to hear at all?
Jonathan Safran Foer
