Quotes from Jodi Picoult

it's quite difficult to know who owns a story. Is it the writer, who crafted it? The characters, who carry the plot forward? Or you, the reader, who breathes life into them? Or perhaps none of the three can exist without the other. Perhaps without this magical combination, a story would be nothing more than words on a page.

When you do not understand the language being spoken, you have two options. You can struggle against the isolation, or you can give yourself up to it.

Is it better not knowing the ugly truth, and pretending it doesn't exist? Or is it better to confront it, even though the knowledge may be a weight you carry around forever?

I may not have a degree, but I certainly got an education.

Reality is frigid; I have to dip one toe at a time and grow accustomed to the shock before wading in further.

There is a fire raging, and we have two choices: we can turn our backs, or we can try to fight it. Yes, talking about racism is hard to do, and yes, we stumble over the words - but we who are white need to have this discussion among ourselves. Because then, even more of us will overhear, and - I hope - the conversation will spread.

And he wonders if maybe Nina is right; if a superhero is nothing but an ordinary person who believes that she cannot fail.

I was surprised that Kurt seemed to understand that you might never love someone as hard as you had the first time you'd fallen; I was even more surprised to learn that maybe you could.

She's not like anyone I've ever seen before. When I'm not with her, I want to be. And when she opens the book and I see her face, I can barely remember what I'm supposed to say, much less how to speak at all. I think I might be in love with her.

You know, Michael, I used to sit around looking for a way to make sense of what happened, like there was some kind of answer I could find if I just looked hard enough. Then one day I realized that if there had been one, Dave would still be here. And I wondered if this...this feeling that I couldn't figure it all out...was what Dave had been feeling, too.

Oh, darling, that's what love is. It's some power greater than you and me, that draws us to one special person.

Our culture promotes individuality, while the Amish are deeply entrenched in community. To us, if someone stands out, it's no big deal because diversity is respected and expected. To the Amish, there's no room for deviation from the norm. It's important to fit in, because that similarity of identity is what defines the society. If you don't fit in, the consequences are psychological tragic, you stand alone when all you've ever known is being part of the group.

Appreciate what you have now, because there may be no tomorrow. If your life span is decreasing every day, what are you doing now to appreciate what you have left? What gives your life meaning?

There were some feelings that just didn't have words big enough to describe them.

Disaster was an avalanche, gathering speed with such acceleration that you worried more about getting out of its path, not finding the pebble at its center.

Only the liar knows that he's lying.

Where there is support, there is no grief.

the way to pull a divided group together is to give them a common enemy.

He wished he knew what to say to make her feel better, but the truth was, he didn't feel all that great himself and he didn't know if there were even any words in the English language to take away this kind of stunning shock, this understanding that the world isn't the place you thought it was.

There was a look in their eyes, sometimes . . . They weren't dreading the trigger being pulled, even if the gun was already pointed at them. It was as if they ran toward it. I could not fathom this, at first. How could you not want to draw breath one more day? How could your own life be such a cheap commodity? But then I started to understand: when your existence is hell, death must be heaven.

I also mistakenly believed that the scariest stories came from imagination, not real life.

We sit for a few more moments, although there's really nothing left to say. This is new to me, too, an entire conversation that takes place in silence, because the heart has its own language. I will remember what Eric says even though he doesn't say a word. I will tell it to her.

He felt, sometimes, like the keeper of memories-the one who had to facilitate that invisible transition between the way it used to be and the way it would be from now on.

For the first time in my life I begin to understand how a parent might hit a child ..it's because you can look into their eyes and see a reflection of yourself that you wish you hadn't.