A Spark of Light

by Jodi Picoult

The question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love? —REVEREND DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.

We are all drowning slowly in the tide of our opinions, oblivious that we are taking on water every time we open our mouths.

Some men wear responsibility and some are worn by it;

She wondered what it felt like to have an act of violence committed because someone loved you too much, instead of too little.

Sometimes you have to make a choice that isn’t what you want to do, but what you have to do. That’s honor.”

This is what it means to be human, Bex thought. We are all just canvases for our scars. —

Revenge, in theory, throbbed with adrenaline and was clean with conviction. In reality, it was rushing into a house on fire, and forgetting to map out your exit.

When it came down to it, at the end, you did not think. You felt. What did she feel? That you will never cease to underestimate yourself. That love is fleeting. That life is a miracle.

You don’t look at another person’s plate to see if they have more than you. You look to see if they have enough.

Sometimes, in the broken breath of night, Hugh wondered if it was better to leave some things hidden.

Violence, from one angle, looked like mercy from another.

The reason you hold on to someone too tightly isn’t always to protect them—sometimes it’s to protect yourself.

Sometimes you can’t tell how consuming love is until you can see its absence. Sometimes you can’t recognize love because it’s changed you, like a chimera, so slowly that you didn’t witness the transformation.

That was the thing about feeling like life was good. Even when it was—especially when it was—you knew you had something to lose.

Perhaps the question wasn’t When does a fetus become a person? but When does a woman stop being one?