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She was with me. She did all of those things and so many more, things I would never tell anyone, and she never even loved me. Now that’s love.

Jonathan Safran Foer

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Jonathan Safran Foer
Age: 47
Born: 1977
Born: February 21
Novelist
Writer
Washington
District of Columbia
Even
Things
Never
Would
Love
Loved
Anyone
Tell
Many

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I didn't feel empty. I wished I'd felt empty. ... I wanted to be empty like an overturned pitcher. But I was full like a stone.
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You only get to keep what you refuse to let go of.
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Stories about food are stories about us-our history and our values.
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Just because you're an atheist, that doesn't mean you wouldn't love for things to have reasons for why they are.
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I'm deeply curious about Jewish things. I've toyed around with the idea of going to rabbinical school.
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Only now do I understand the war against boredom, the lost cause of empty hours, of empty days and nights.
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I wasn’t having second thoughts, but I was having thoughts.
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I missed you even when I was with you. That’s been my problem. I miss what I already have, and I surround myself with things that are missing.
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What does it remember like?
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It was the first time I had ever made love. I wondered if he knew that. It felt like crying. I wondered, Why does anyone ever make love?
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I could tell that Mom was dreaming, but I didn't want to know what she was dreaming about, because I had enough of my own nightmares, and if she had been dreaming something happy, I would have been angry at her for dreaming something happy.
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Time was passing like a hand waving from a train that I wanted to be on.
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He Wrote, Are you OK? I told him, My eyes are crummy. He wrote, But are you OK? I told him, That's a very complicated question. He wrote, That's a very simple answer. I asked, Are you OK? He wrote, Some mornings I wake up feeling grateful.
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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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It’s a rule that we never listen to sad music, we made that rule early on, songs are as sad as the listener, we hardly ever listen to music.
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