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Jonathan Safran Foer

" What‚Äôs the kindest thing you almost did? Is your fear of insomnia stronger than your fear of what awoke you? Are bonsai cruel? Do you love what you love, or just the feeling? Your earliest memories: do you look through your young eyes, or look at your young self? Which feels worse: to know that there are people who do more with less talent, or that there are people with more talent? Do you walk on moving walkways? Should it make any difference that you knew it was wrong ÔøΩas you were doing it? Would you trade actual intelligence for the perception of being smarter? Why does it bother you when someone at the next table is having a conversation on a cell phone? How many years of your life would you trade for the greatest month of your life? What would you tell your father, if it were possible? Which is changing faster, your body, or your mind? Is it cruel to tell an old person his prognosis? Are you in any way angry at your phone? When you pass ÔøΩa storefront, do you look at what‚Äôs inside, look at your reflection, or neither? Is there anything you would die for if no one could ever know you died for it? If you could be assured that money wouldn‚Äôt make ÔøΩyou any small bit happier, would you still want more money? What has ÔøΩbeen irrevocably spoiled for you? If your deepest secret became public, ÔøΩwould you be forgiven? Is your best friend your kindest friend? Is it in any way cruel to give a dog a name? Is there anything you feel a need to confess? You know it‚Äôs a ‚Äúmurder of crows‚Äù and a ‚Äúwake of buzzards‚Äù but it‚Äôs a what of ravens, again? What is it about death that you‚Äôre ÔøΩafraid of? How does it make you feel to know that it‚Äôs an ‚Äúunkindness ÔøΩof ravens‚Äù? "

Jonathan Safran Foer

Anger

related quotes

" Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I‚Äôm not living. "

Jonathan Safran Foer

contemporary

" Every moment before this one depends on this one. "

Jonathan Safran Foer

Moment

" You only get to keep what you refuse to let go of "

Jonathan Safran Foer

keep

" August has passed, and yet summer continues by force to grow days. They sprout secretly between the chapters of the year, covertly included between its pages. "

Jonathan Safran Foer

august , imagery

" Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of... "

Jonathan Safran Foer

Heart

" And this is what living next to a waterfall is like, Safran. Every widow wakes one morning, perhaps after years of pure and unwavering grieving, to realize she slept a good night's sleep, and will be able to eat breakfast, and doesn't hear her husband's ghost all the time, but only some of the time. Her grief is replaced with useful sadness. Every parent who loses a child finds a way to laugh again. The timbre begins to fade. The edge dulls. The hurt lessens. Every love is carved from loss. Mine was. Yours is. Yor great-great-great-grandchildren's will be. But we learn to live in that love "

Jonathan Safran Foer

Love , Pain

" All that mattered was him looking at me "

Jonathan Safran Foer

Attention , him

" It's nice to believe that when confronted with facts people will just suddenly respond to them but, in fact, most people don't really work like that. "

Jonathan Safran Foer

Truth , Facts

" One hundred years of joy can be erased in one second "

Jonathan Safran Foer

Fact

" Weeks passed like boats waiting to sail into the starless dawn, we were full of aimless endless darkness. "

Jonathan Safran Foer

Boredom

" Thomas! What are you doing!" and I gestured, "I thought this was Nothing," covering myself with one of my daybooks ,and she said, "It's Something! "

Jonathan Safran Foer

Nothing

" ... we decided to create a Nothing Place in the living room, it seemed necessary, because there are times when one needs to disappear while in the living room, and sometimes one simply wants to disappear, we made this zone slightly larger so that one of us could lie down in it, it was a rule that you never would look at that rectangle of space, it didn't exist, and when you were in it, neither did you, for a while that was enough, but only for a while, we required more rules, on our second anniversary we marked off the entire guest room as a Nothing Place, it seemed like a good idea at the time, sometimes a small patch at the foot of the bed or a rectangle in the living room isn't enough privacy, the side of the door that faced the guest room was Nothing, the side that faced the hallway was Something, the knob that connected them was neither Something nor Nothing. The walls of the hallway were Nothing, even pictures need to disappear, especially pictures, but the hallway itself was Something, the bathtub was Nothing, the bathwater was Something, the hair on our bodies was Nothing, of course, but once it collected around the drain it was Something, we were trying to make our lives easier, trying, with all of our rules, to make life effortless. But a friction began to arise between Nothing and Something, in the morning the Nothing vase cast a Something shadow, like the memory of someone you've lost, what can you say about that, at night the Nothing light from the guest room spilled under the Nothing door and stained the Something hallway, there's nothing to say. It became difficult to navigate from Something to Something without accidentally walking through Nothing, and when Something‚Äîa key, a pen, a pocketwatch‚Äîwas accidentally left in a Nothing Place, it never could be retrieved, that was an unspoken rule, like nearly all of our rules have been. There came a point, a year or two ago, when our apartment was more Nothing than Something, that in itself didn't have to be a problem, it could have been a good thing, it could have saved us. We got worse. I was sitting on the sofa in the second bedroom one afternoon, thinking and thinking and thinking, when I realized I was on a Something island. "How did I get here," I wondered, surrounded by Nothing, "and how can I get back?" The longer your mother and I lived together, the more we took each other's assumptions for granted, the less was said, the more misunderstood, I'd often remember having designated a space as Nothing when she was sure we had agreed that it was Something, our unspoken agreements led to disagreements, to suffering, I started to undress right in front of her, this was just a few months ago, and she said, "Thomas! What are you doing!" and I gestured, "I thought this was Nothing," covering myself with one of my daybooks, and she said, "It's Something!" We took the blueprint of our apartment from the hallway closet and taped it to the inside of the front door, with an orange and a green marker we separated Something from Nothing. "This is Something," we decided. "This is Nothing." "Something." "Something." "Nothing." "Something." "Nothing." "Nothing." "Nothing." Everything was forever fixed, there would be only peace and happiness, it wasn't until last night, our last night together, that the inevitable question finally arose, I told her, "Something," by covering her face with my hands and then lifting them like a marriage veil. "We must be." But I knew, in the most protected part of my heart, the truth. "

Jonathan Safran Foer

Nothing , Something

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