Death Quote by Jodi Picoult — Inspiring Words on Life, Love & Wisdom

“Being a good mother, it seemed to me, meant you ran the risk of losing your child.”

“How do you know she’s the one for you?”

“When you think you're right, you're most likely wrong.”

“For better or for worse, music is the language of memory. It is also the language of love.”

“Dylan Jerome," the lawyer admits, "wanted to sue God for not caring enough about him.”

“No, honestly, my mouth shouldn't be able to function unless my brain's engaged.”

“The amazing miracle of death, when one second you're walking and talking, and the next second you're an object.”

“I've changed my ways a little, I cannot now”

“For if the darkness and corruption leave”

“HS is supposedly a story that is also a game. In games, the characters die all the time. How many times did you let Mario fall in the pit before he saved the princess? Who weeps for these Marios. In games your characters die, but you keep trying and trying and rebooting and resetting until finally they make it. When you play a game this process is all very impersonal. Once you finally win, when all is said and done those deaths didn’t “count”, only the linear path of the final victorious version of the character is considered “real”. Mario never actually died, did he? Except the omniscient player knows better. HS seems to combine all the meaningless deaths of a trial-and-error game journey with the way death is treated dramatically in other media, where unlike our oblivious Mario, the characters are aware and afraid of the many deaths they must experience before finally winning the game.”

“And what of the dead? I own that I thought of myself, at times, almost as dead. Are they not locked below ground in chambers smaller than mine was, in their millions of millions? There is no category of human activity in which the dead do not outnumber the living many times over. Most beautiful children are dead. Most soldiers, most cowards. The fairest women and the most learned men – all are dead. Their bodies repose in caskets, in sarcophagi, beneath arches of rude stone, everywhere under the earth. Their spirits haunt our minds, ears pressed to the bones of our foreheads. Who can say how intently they listen as we speak, or for what word?”