Jodi Picoult Quotes

You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not.

When you love someone, you say their name different. Like it's safe inside your mouth.

When you love someone you let them take care of you.

Love meant jumping off a cliff and trusting that a certain person would be there to catch you at the bottom.

If we don't change the direction we are headed, we will end up where we are going.

The scariest thing in the world is thinking someone you love is going to die.

If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?

You know it's never fifty-fifty in a marriage. It's always seventy-thirty, or sixty-forty. Someone falls in love first. Someone puts someone else up on a pedestal. Someone works very hard to keep things rolling smoothly; someone else sails along for the ride.

I wondered what happened when you offered yourself to someone, and they opened you, only to discover you were not the gift they expected and they had to smile and nod and say thank you all the same.

I'm lonely. Why do you think I had to learn to act so independent? I also get mad too quickly, and I hog the covers, and my second toe is longer than my big one. My hair has it's own zip code. Plus, I get certifiably crazy when I've got PMS. You don't love someone because they're perfect. You love them in spite of the fact that they're not.

and he suddenly knew that if she killed herself, he would die. Maybe not immediately, maybe not with the same blinding rush of pain, but it would happen. You couldn't live for very long without a heart.

The damage was permanent; there would always be scars. But even the angriest scars faded over time until it was difficult to see them written on the skin at all, and the only thing that remained was the memory of how painful it had been.

My mother... she is beautiful, softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I want to grow old and be like her.

Until this moment, I had not realized that someone could break your heart twice, along the very same fault lines.

So much of the language of love was like that: you devoured someone with your eyes, you drank in the sight of him, you swallowed him whole. Love was substance, broken down and beating through your bloodstream.

All any of us wanted, really, was to know that we counted. That someone else's life would not have been as rich without us here.

Love was that way. You could not render it in black or white. It always came down to the strange, blended shades of grey.

If she spoke, she would tell him the truth: she was not okay at all, but horribly empty, now that she knew what it was like to be filled.

This is love, I think. A place where people who have been alone may lock together like hawks and spin in the air, dizzy with surprise at the connection. A place you go willingly, and with wonder

Once you had put the pieces back together, even though you may look intact, you were never quite the same as you'd been before the fall.