Jennifer Weiner Quotes

So I could write a story about a girl who was a lot like me, her ex-boyfriend, who was a lot like Satan, witha twitchy eyelid and a penis the size of a worn-down nub of an eraser.

I wanted love, the big love, the kind people wrote songs and made movies about. I wanted to be the center of some guy’s universe, the only thing he could think about. I wanted to matter that way.

People don’t like to see things that aren’t perfect. It reminds them of what could go wrong in their own lives, I guess.

Love, I said, is the rug they pull out from under you. Love is Lucy always lifting the football at the last second so that Charlie Brown falls on his ass. Love is something that every time you believe...

A girl named Jo once had a life / But that’s gone now; she’s only wife.

I believed in newspapers’ mission, the importance of their role as a watchdog, holding the powerful accountable, comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable.

Had become an EST instructor, which made both of them laugh.

Tell the story that's been growing in your heart, the characters you can't keep out of your head, the tale story that speaks to you, that pops into your head during your daily commute, that wakes you...

You have to let people be who they want, Terry said. Even if it’s not what you want them to be.

Jo thought sometimes that Bethie liked to play at being a rebel, when the truth was that her sister had a genius for conformity, for making herself the best, most stylish example of whatever version o...

The way I see it, she began, your mother’s devoted her whole life to you kids. She said you kids in precisely the same tone I would have used for you infestation of cockroaches

I’d lost . . . ten pounds? Twelve? Enough to make me believe that if  I just kept at it I could lose the weight, the percentage of myself, that would finally make my body acceptable. Enough to make me...

Maybe it was inertia -or worse, fear- that was keeping me in the same place.

I should have been moved. I wasn’t. It was as if I’d been frozen, as if I was now a woman made of ice, and he’d come at me not with a torch or even a candle, but with a toothpick, and was plink plink...

Jo inhaled slowly, trying to think of all the time she’d had with her granddaughters, and not everything that she’d miss.

Your first love is important. It’s part of your story. The story you’ll tell yourself, the one you’ll tell about yourself, for the rest of your life.

Digits.

This thing that I created, this thing I made as a woman, for other women, is worth something. It's worth exactly the same as what a similar thing, built by a man, for men, is worth.

You're allowed to want to use your education. You're allowed to want to be more than a mother.

We lose ourselves, she repeated, forming each word with care, but we find our way back. Wasn’t that the story of her life? Wasn’t that the story of Bethie’s? You make the wrong choices, you make mista...