A Quote by Jodi Picoult

Envy, after all, comes from wanting something that isn't yours. But grief comes from losing something you've already had. — © Jodi Picoult
Envy, after all, comes from wanting something that isn't yours. But grief comes from losing something you've already had.
There’s a difference between losing something you knew you had and losing something you discovered you had. One is a disappointment. The other feels like losing a piece of yourself.
I think escapism is something artists write about pretty frequently - it's something everyone can relate to, the concept of wanting something more, wanting to find solace, wanting to have something better.
I never meant to write about the experience of losing a good friend to breast cancer when I was going through it. But after it was over, I realized that although something deeply sad had happened, something truly beautiful also had.
If you have a strong ego [and] something good happens to an acquaintance of yours, [it] makes you feel bad. It's called envy. ... The ego thinks something has been taken away from you because somebody else has received something good. It's a complete illusion, but that's the madness of the ego.
Whenever you're going after something that belongs to you, anyone who's depriving you of the right to have it is a criminal. Understand that. Whenever you are going after something that is yours, you are within your legal rights to lay claim to it. And anyone who puts forth any effort to deprive you of that which is yours, is breaking the law, is a criminal.
It was palpable, all that wanting: Mother wanting something more, Dad wanting something more, everyone wanting something more. This wasn't going to do for us fifties girls; we were going to have to change the equation even if it meant . . . abstaining from motherhood, because clearly that was where Mother got caught.
Wanting something - wanting a career or wanting to make something - doesn't really mean much. It's about finding something you care about. Because caring is the only thing that really matters.
As a species, we're not only wired to choose today over tomorrow, but we hate to feel like we're losing out on something. The bottom line is, if we feel like we're losing something we avoid it, we won't do it. That's why so many people don't save and invest. Saving sounds like you're giving something up, you're losing something today. But you're not.
I think guys wind up after a while not wanting another guy sleeping with the girl they're with. But eventually everyone wants something more. We all have that desire for something special, something committed. We all want to be The One.
It's funny how, even long after you've accepted the grief of losing someone you love and truly have gotten on with your life, every once in a while something comes up that plays "gotcha," and for a moment or two the scar tissue separates and the wound is raw again.
Human nature, at its best, had always been based on a deep heroic restlessness, on wanting something-something else, something more, whether it be true love or a glimpse just beyond the horizon. It was the promise of happiness, not the attainment of it, that had driven the entire engine, the folly and glory of who we are.
I chose Rio Ave because I had something in my head about wanting to do it differently to how I had done it in my past. Something new.
I always encourage people who had a loss of any kind that you find something to focus on that takes you out of that horrific sorrow. And you have to go through it. No way out but through in the grief. But don't remain in the grief. You know, find something that you can nurture as you would that being that you loved.
Grief and disappointment give rise to anger, anger to envy, envy to malice, and malice to grief again, till the whole circle be completed.
No one could save me from the grief of losing my child or losing my first marriage. I had to do that on my own.
But that had been grief--this was joy. Yet that grief and this joy were alike outside all the ordinary conditions of life; they were loopholes, as it were, in that ordinary life through which there came glimpses of something sublime. And in the contemplation of this sublime something the soul was exalted to inconceivable heights of which it had before had no conception, while reason lagged behind, unable to keep up with it.
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