She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.
JONATHAN SAFRAN FOERSongs are as sad as the listener.
More Jonathan Safran Foer Quotes
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Love me, because love doesn’t exist, and I have tried everything that does.
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I watched the sheets breathe when she breathed, like how Dad used to say that trees inhale when people exhale, because I was too young to understand the truth about biological processes.
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He couldn’t bear to live, but he couldn’t bear to die. He couldn’t bear the thought of he making love to someone else, but neither could he bear the absence of the thought. And as for the note, he couldn’t bear to keep it, but he couldn’t bear to destroy it either.
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Memory was supposed to fill the time, but it made time a hole to be filled. Each second was two hundred yards, to be walked, crawled. You couldn’t see the next hour, it was so far in the distance. Tomorrow was over the horizon, and would take an entire day to reach.
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I looked at everyone and wondered where they came from, and who they missed, and what they were sorry for.
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People with nothing to declare carry the most.
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We believed in our grandmother’s cooking more fervently than we believed in God.
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Highs and lows make you feel that things matter, but they’re nothing.” “So what’s something?” “Being reliable is something. Being good.
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Everything is to protect you. I exist in case you need to be protected.
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The animals are those things that God likes but doesn’t love.
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You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness.
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We talked about nothing in particular, but it felt like we were talking about the most important things.
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In the morning, when the nothing vase casts a something shadow, like the memory of someone you’ve lost, what can you say about that?
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The mistakes I’ve made are dead to me. But I can’t take back the things I never did.
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The French, who love their dogs, sometimes eat their horses. The Spanish, who love their horses, sometimes eat their cows. The Indians, who love their cows, sometimes eat their dogs.
JONATHAN SAFRAN FOER