Yes, she is." He looks at me, his face carved in pain. "She is dying, Sara. She will die, either tonight or tomorrow or maybe a year from now if we're really lucky. You heard what Dr. Chance said. Arsenic's not a cure. It just postpones what's coming." My eyes fill up with tears. "But I love her," I say, because that is reason enough.
Jodi PicoultThe doctors may be mapping out the war games, but it is the nurses who make the conflict bearable.
Jodi PicoultYou know it's never fifty-fifty in a marriage. It's always seventy-thirty, or sixty-forty. Someone falls in love first. Someone puts someone else up on a pedestal. Someone works very hard to keep things rolling smoothly; someone else sails along for the ride.
Jodi PicoultThat's because you've never been one. You haven't spent years wearing someone else's clothes, taking someone else's name, living in someone else's houses, and working someone else's job to fit in. And if you don't sell out, then you run away... proving you're the Gypsy they said you were all along.
Jodi PicoultThe optimist in me wants to believe sexuality will eventually become like handwriting: thereโs no right way and wrong way to do it. Weโre all just wired differently. It's also worth noting that when you meet someone, you never bother to ask if heโs right or left-handed. After all: does it really matter to anyone other than the person holding the pen?
Jodi Picoult