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Years were passing through the spaces between moments.

Jonathan Safran Foer

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Jonathan Safran Foer
Age: 47
Born: 1977
Born: February 21
Novelist
Writer
Washington
District of Columbia
Passings
Passing
Space
Moments
Years
Spaces

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None of the ways people were talking about September 11 felt right to me. I don't buy into the way George W. Bush talks about it. I don't buy into the way the 9/11 commission talks about it. It isn't that I don't believe them. It's just that they're not the tellings for me.
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There has yet to be a human to survive a span of history without at least one end of the world.
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Do you think I'm wonderful? she asked him one day as they leaned against the trunk of a petrified maple. No, he said. Why? Because so many girls are wonderful. I imagine hundreds of men have called their loves wonderful today, and it's only noon. You couldn't be something that hundreds of others are.
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They reciprocated the great and saving lie--that our love for things is greater than our lover for our love for things--willfully playing the parts they wrote for themselves, willfully creating and believing fictions necessary for life.
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I shook my tambourine the whole time, because it helped me remember that even though I was going through different neighborhoods, I was still me.
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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 wasn’t having second thoughts, but I was having thoughts.
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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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My test for writing is always, is this fun or does it feel like a job? Is it moving me? Or am I just fulfilling my own expectations - or even worse, somebody else's?
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I wondered, for the first time in my life, if life was worth all the work it took to live. What exactly made it worth it?
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Your dad didn't die, so I won't be able to explain it to you.
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