Jordan Weisman Quotes

He said that mixing an omelet was a lot like mixing paint: the eggs were my basic palette, and then I could build tastes out of whatever ingredients I had around.

Emma told me once that baking powder was an act of love, invented by a chemist for his wife, who was allergic to yeast.

It was just past midnight and I was trudging through the St. Louis Greyhound station, a grim building obviously brought to you by the people who design high school bathrooms.

Touch with your eyes, Cathy. Handle things with them, so you can tell by looking if they are rough, or slick, or damp and soft, like mushrooms. You have to cry with your hands, and laugh with it, and let it sing, You have to see with your heart. You have to see with your heart.

To most rich people, money is power." I opened the door and got out of the truck. "That's what's cool about Emma," Pete said. "She's totally into money, but she isn't like that at all. Money isn't power to her."
"What is it?"
He thought about it for a second, then grinned. "Lego," he said.

If this were a war year, if this were 1918 or 1944, I wouldn't be the only girl whose dad was never coming home. Think of that: a whole generation of us, daughters and young wives, waiting for a car that will never roll into the driveway. Waiting for a door that will never open again.

Cathy, you burn like a candle in the dark." Victor titled up my face with his fingers. "All your life, people are going to see that, even from far away, even in the middle of the night, and they are going to come to you." He touched my damp cheek, still wet with tears. I could feel my skin flushing against his fingers, "They are going to want to add your light to theirs," he said "And every night ends, and then it's morning, and the sun comes up.

The hands were beautiful, deft and wise: hands for steadying a bicycle, for pouring milk into a cereal bowl, hands for putting on Band-Aids and ruffling your hair.

I pegged him as the kind of jock that has a thing for smart girls. You see these guys, second-stringers on the football team; they stand around the edges of the Jock Huddle listening to raunchy talk about cheerleaders, but they fall for the smart girl with library eyes.

Licking the powder off my fingertips I decided that bravery was overrated. Sometimes sugar is just as good.

Without us, the world is just things, Cathy. It's our seeing that fills them with meaning. To pay attention is a painter's scared duty. That's what real prayer is. real meditation: to hold your attention to the world like a match, until it catches with the fire of meaning.

My mom is a black-no-sugar woman, but I basically believe in turning my coffee into cheesecake.

He was what she had always needed her father to be.

My anger turned small and hid. It was like that kid feeling you get when you are sad or hurt or lonely and you scream or cry to your parents and they crush you with their grown up feelings. Rage as big as the sky. Loneliness like an ocean you could drown in. Huge grown up feelings that annihilate you where you stand.

Maybe you think a lot about the past, when you haven't got much future in front of you.

Victor looked at me with troubled eyes. "Your life is a journey to a destination I can't even imagine. I can give you a lot of things, I can give you money and safety and all my heart... but maybe that isn't what you really need." He stirred, looking out into dusk. "Maybe company on the journey is the only thing that matters."
The last thin edge of the sun slipped into the sea and darkness seeped into the valley. "I do know I will love you forever," Victor said. "And forever, for me, is a very long time.

Still life." What a lie. Life isn't still. Death is.