"shooting stars are not stars at all. they’re just rocks that enter the atmosphere and catch fire under friction. what we wish on, when we see one, is only a trail of debris."
Yes, that was one I wanted to add. This book is full of wonderful quotes... I don't know how Jodi Picoult managed to fit so much of them into only one book.
"We ate the birds. We ate them. We wanted their songs to flow up through our throats and burst out of our mouths, and so we ate them. We wanted their feathers to bud from our flesh. We wanted their wings, we wanted to fly as they did, soar freely among the treetops and the clouds, and so we ate them. We speared them, we clubbed them, we tangled their feet in glue, we netted them, we spitted them, we threw them onto hot coals, and all for love, because we loved them. We wanted to be one with them. We wanted to hatch out of clean, smooth, beautiful eggs, as they did, back when we were young and agile and innocent of cause and effect, we did not want the mess of being born, and so we crammed the birds into our gullets, feathers and all, but it was no use, we couldn’t sing, not effortlessly as they do, we can’t fly, not without smoke and metal, and as for the eggs we don’t stand a chance. We’re mired in gravity, we’re earthbound. We’re ankle-deep in blood, and all because we ate the birds, we ate them a long time ago, when we still had
( ... )
"It seemed as if humans had lost the ability to make their own fun. The more they were gifted with inventions, the less they needed one another. They didn’t sing or play fiddle at the hearth; they turned on the stereo. They didn’t tell stories on the porch; they watched television."
Comments 233
- jodi picoult, my sister's keerper
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- robert pirsig
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- anais nin
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- laura whitcomb, a certain slant of light
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