Molly Samson's Reviews > Handle with Care

Handle with Care by Jodi Picoult
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Oct 24, 11

it was amazing
bookshelves: english, readddd-sooonn, since-august-2011
Read from September 24 to October 19, 2011

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Quotes Molly Liked

Jodi Picoult
“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.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care

Jodi Picoult
“That's what happens to dreams, life gets in the way.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care

Jodi Picoult
“People ask all the time how I'm doing, but the truth is, they don't really want to know.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care
tags: care

Jodi Picoult
“What was wrong with me? I had a decent life. I was healthy. I wasn't starving or maimed by a land mine or orphaned. Yet somehow, it wasn't enough. I had a hole in me, and everything I took for granted slipped through it like sand.

I felt like I had swallowed yeast, like whatever evil was festering inside me had doubled in size.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care

Jodi Picoult
“I told myself that if I didn't care, this wouldn't have hurt so much - surely that proved I was alive and human and all those touchy-feely things, for once and for all. But that wasn't a relief, not when I felt like a skyscraper with dynamite on every floor.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care

Jodi Picoult
“I always hated when my scars started to fade, because as long as I could still see them, I knew why I was hurting.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care
tags: pain

Jodi Picoult
“People changed. Even the people you thought you knew as well as you knew yourself.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care

Jodi Picoult
“I think you can love a person too much.

You put someone up on a pedestal, and all of a sudden, from that perspective, you notice what's wrong - a hair out of place, a run in a stocking, a broken bone. You spend all your time and energy making it right, and all the while, you are falling apart yourself. You don't even realize what you look like, how far you've deteriorated, because you only have eyes for someone else.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care

Jodi Picoult
“You know how sometimes, your life is so perfect you’re afraid for the next moment, because it couldn’t possibly be quite as good? That’s what it felt like.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care

Jodi Picoult
“But love wasn't about sacrifice, and it wasn't about falling short of someone's expectations. By definition, love made you better than good enough; it redefined perfection to include your traits, instead of excluding them. 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.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care

Jodi Picoult
“Things break all the time. Glass and dishes and fingernails. Cars and contracts and potato chips. You can break a record, a horse, a dollar. You can break the ice. There are coffee breaks and lunch breaks and prison breaks. Day breaks, waves break, voices break. Chains can be broken. So can silence, and fever... promises break. Hearts break.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care

Jodi Picoult
“People always want to know what it feels like, so I’ll tell you: there’s a sting when you first slice, and then your heart speeds up when you see the blood, because you know you’ve done something you shouldn’t have, and yet you’ve gotten away with it. Then you sort of go into a trance, because it’s truly dazzling—that bright red line, like a highway route on a map that you want to follow to see where it leads. And—God—the sweet release, that’s the best way I can describe it, kind of like a balloon that’s tied to a little kid’s hand, which somehow breaks free and floats into the sky. You just know that balloon is thinking, Ha, I don’t belong to you after all; and at the same time, Do they have any idea how beautiful the view is from up here? And then the balloon remembers, after the fact, that it has a wicked fear of heights.
When reality kicks in, you grab some toilet paper or a paper towel (better than a washcloth, because the stains don’t ever come out 100 percent) and you press hard against the cut. You can feel your embarrassment; it’s a backbeat underneath your pulse. Whatever relief there was a minute ago congeals, like cold gravy, into a fist in the pit of your stomach. You literally make yourself sick, because you promised yourself last time would be the last time, and once again, you’ve let yourself down. So you hide the evidence of your weakness under layers of clothes long enough to cover the cuts, even if it’s summertime and no one is wearing jeans or long sleeves. You throw the bloody tissues into the toilet and watch the water go pink before you flush them into oblivion, and you wish it were really that easy.”
Jodi Picoult, Handle with Care


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