Heather Paul

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Judaism Is About ...
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Jonathan Safran Foer
“From space, astronauts can see people making love as a tiny speck of light. Not light, exactly, but a glow that could be mistaken for light--a coital radiance that takes generations to pour like honey through the darkness to the astronaut's eyes.

In about one and a half centuries--after the lovers who made the glow will have long been laid permanently on their backs--metropolises will be seen from space. They will glow all year. Smaller cities will also be seen, but with great difficulty. Shtetls will be virtually impossible to spot. Individual couples, invisible.

The glow is born from the sum of thousands of loves: newlyweds and teenagers who spark like lighters out of butane, pairs of men who burn fast and bright, pairs of women who illuminate for hours with soft multiple glows, orgies like rock and flint toys sold at festivals, couples trying unsuccessfully to have children who burn their frustrated image on the continent like the bloom a bright light leaves on the eye after you turn away from it.

Some nights, some places are a little brighter. It's difficult to stare at New York City on Valentine's Day, or Dublin on St. Patrick's. The old walled city of Jerusalem lights up like a candle on each of Chanukah's eight nights...We're here, the glow...will say in one and a half centuries. We're here, and we're alive.”
Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated
tags: sex

Jonathan Safran Foer
“I have been waiting for you for so long.”
I pointed to the car. “We are searching for Trachimbrod.”
“Oh,” she said and she released a river of tears. “You are here. I am it.”
Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated

Jonathan Safran Foer
“Memories are small prayers to God, if we believed in that sort of thing.”
Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated

Jonathan Safran Foer
“It was not the feeling of completeness I so needed, but the feeling of not being empty.”
Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated

Jonathan Safran Foer
“He spoke to her as if she could understand him, never in high pitch or in monosyllables, and never in nonsense words. This is milk that I am feeding you. It comes from Mordechai the milkman, whom you will meet one day. He gets the milk from a cow, which is a very strange and troubling thing if you think about it, so don't think about it . . . This is my hand that is petting your face. Some people are left-handed and some are right-handed. We don't know which you are yet, because you just sit there and let me do the handling . . . This is a kiss. It is what happens when lips are puckered and pressed against something, sometimes other lips, sometimes a cheek, sometimes something else. It depends . . . This is my heart. You are touching it with your left hand, not because you are left-handed, although you might be, but because I am holding it against my heart. What you are feeling is the beating of my heart. It is what keeps me alive.”
Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated

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