Erich Segal Quotes

I began to think about God. I mean, the notion of a Supreme Being existing somewhere began to creep into my private thoughts. Not because I wanted to strike Him on the face, to punch Him out for what He was about to do to me - to Jenny, that is. No, the kind of religious thoughts I had were just the opposite. Like, when I woke up in the morning and Jenny was there. Still there. I'm sorry, embarrassed even, but I hoped there was a God I could say thank you to.

And then I did what I had never done in his presence, much less in his arms. I cried.

They jogged along for another half mile, their increasingly laboured breaths punctuated by Bernie's gasps of "great" and "fantastic" whenever Davey showed his style.

"Good workout," Bernie said when they reached the finish line and began to walk. "You should run during the year too, Beckwith. I mean, how the hell do you stay so thin? You don't even play squash."

"I worry a lot," said Bob and kept walking.

We have turned doctors into gods and worship their deity by offering up our bodies and our souls - not to mention our worldly goods.
And yet paradoxically, they are the most vulnerable of human beings. Their suicide rate is eight times the national average. Their percentage of drug addiction is one hundred times higher
And because they are painfully aware that they cannot live up to our expectations, their anguish is unquantifiably intense. They have aptly been called 'wounded healers.' "

~ Barney Livingston, M.D.
(Doctors, 1989)

Her handwriting was curious - small sharp little letters with no capitals (who did she think she was, e. e. cummings?).

Jenny, if you're so con­vinced I'm a loser, why did you bull­doze me into buy­ing you cof­fee?'

She looked me straight in the eye and smiled.

'I like your body,' she said.

I wrote 'Yellow Submarine' for the Beatles. I wrote the screenplay for 'The Games,' about the Olympic Games. I wrote 'Love Story,' both the novel and the screenplay. I wrote 'RPM' for Stanley Kramer. Plus, I wrote two scholarly books and a 400-page translation from the Latin, and I dated June Wilkinson!

What the hell makes you so smart?" I asked. "I wouldn't go for coffee with you, " she answered. "Listen
I wouldn't ask you." "That, "she replied "is what makes you stupid.

a real physician almost never seeks another doctor's help. For they all are painfully aware of just how little anybody understands about curing the sick.

There was a brief silence. I think I heard snow falling.

Although champagne was served, the mood was curiously subdued. After this reunion, they would probably never meet together as a class again - at least not in such numbers. They would spend the next decades reading obituaries of the men who had started out in 1954 as rivals and today were leaving Harvard as brothers. This was the beginning of the end. They had met once more and just had time enough to learn that they liked one another. And to say goodbye.

What can you say about a twenty-five year old girl who died? That she was beautiful and brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. The Beatles. And me.

It scarcely made a column of newspaper space, but it wrote headlines in their lives.

I didn't know you were re­lated to Se­wall Boat House too,' she said.

'Yeah. I come from a long line of wood and stone.

Professors of classics - not even a professor of English - professors of classics, they're something sacred; it's almost like being a priest.

But Anya, you're not any girl, you are someone very special. You have a gift of happiness that's almost magical".
To Anya the gentle fluttering of new life within reminded her that Adam had not only been there in Stockholm but would remain with her forever.
"It is completely possible. Idiopathic reversals of ovarian failure are well documented in the literature.

Deep down I'm still afraid, but at least I can deal with it.

Please, if one of us cries, let both of us cry. But preferably neither of us.

Sometimes I ask myself what would I be if Jenny were alive.
And then I answer :
I would also be alive. - Oliver.

But what does he do to qualify as a sonovabitch?" Jenny asked.
"Make me", I replied.
"Beg pardon?"
"Make me", I repeated.
Her eyes widened like saucers. "You mean like incest?" she asked.
"Don't give me your family problems, Jen. I have enough of my own."
"Like what, Oliver?" she asked, "like just what is it he makes you do?"
"The 'right things'", I said.
"What's wrong with the 'right things'?" she asked, delighting in the apparent paradox.

This isn't a watercolor, it's a mural.

Part of being a big winner is the ability to be a big loser. There is no paradox involved. It is a distinctly Harvard thing to be able to turn any defeat into victory

Either way I don't come first, which for some stupid reason bothers hell out of me, having grown up with the notion that I always had to be number one. Family heritage, don't you know?

Sometimes I ask myself what I would be if Jenny were alive.
And then I answer:I would also be alive.

Some were brilliant bordering on genius. Others, genius bordering on madness

Let's just run, huh?"

Bob picked up the pace, hoping to tire his partner into silence.

"That reminds me," Bernie puffed, "you know what you've told me is buried in the Fort Knox of my brain. The whole Gestapo couldn't get it out of me. But--"

"But what?"

"I'd really like to tell Nance. I mean husbands and wives shouldn't have secrets from each other."

Bob did not respond.

"Beckwith, I swear, Nancy's the soul of honour. The epitome of discretion. Besides, she'll notice I'm holding something out on her. I mean, God knows what she'll think it is."

"She'd never guess," Bob said wryly.

"That's just the point. Please, Beckwith, Nance'll be discreet. I swear on my clients' lives."

The pressure was too great.

"Okay, Bern," he sighed, "but not too many details, huh?"

"Don't sweat. Just the essential wild fact--if you know what I mean."

"Yeah. When will you tell her?"

Three strides later Bernie answered sheepishly, "Last night.

Quiet heroism or youthful idealism, or both? What do we know? That life without heroism and idealism is not worth living - or that either can be fatal?

Now would you do me a favor?' From somewhere inside me came this devastating assault to make me cry. But I withstood. I would not cry. I would merely indicate to Jennifer - by the affirmative nodding of my head - that I would be happy to do her any favor whatsoever.
'Would you please hold me very tight?' she asked.
I put my hand on her forearm - Christ, so thin - and gave it a little squeeze.
'No, Oliver,' she said, 'really hold me. Next to me.'I was very, very careful - of the tubes and things - as I got onto the bed with her and put my arms around her.
'Thanks, Ollie.'
Those were her last words.

The explanations for the things we do in life are many and complex. Supposedly mature adults should live by logic, listen to their reason. Think things out before they act.
But maybe they never heard what Dr. London told me one, Freud said that for the little things in life we should react according to our reason. But for really big decisions, we should heed what our unconscious tells us.

I wanted to keep looking at her because I wanted to never take my eyes from her, but still I had to
lower my eyes, I was so ashamed that even now Jenny was reading my mind so perfectly.
'Listen, that's the only goddamn thing I'm asking, Ollie. Otherwise, I know you'll be okay.' That thing in my gut was stirring again, so I was afraid to even speak the word 'okay.' I just
looked mutely at Jenny.

Love Means Not Ever Having To Say You're Sorry.

Sometimes I amaze even myself.

Although science could pinpoint the exact spot in the brain that ignites rage, they had yet to identify the location that produces love.