The Cider House Rules — John Irving
(Long, but a very nice read)

“Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last.”
– Charlotte Bronte, 1847

“For practical purposes abortion may be defined as the interruption of gestation before viability of the child.”
– H.J. Boldt, 1906


The start of real repentace was to accept yourself as vile. […] Where did “repentance” come from, then? Was there a guilt attached to feeling lucky?

Homer Wells felt his tears come silently; threre were more tears than he remembered crying the last time he has cried. He cried so much. He cried because he had received his first fatherly kisses.


[To Homer] You can call it a fetus, or an embryo, or the products of conception, thought Homer Wells, but whatever you call it, it’s alive. And whatever you do to it, Homer thought — and whatever you call what you do — you’re killing it.

[To Larch] Always, in the background of his mind, there was a newborn baby crying; even when the orphanage was as silent as the few, remaining, abadoned buildings of St. Cloud’s — even when it was ghostly quiet — Wilbur Larch heard babies crying. And they were not crying to be born, he knew they were crying because they were born.

Wilbur Larch would have told him there was no such thing as playing a little God; when you were willing to play God — at all — you played a lot. He knew now that he couldn’t play God in the worst sense; if he could operate on Rose Rose, how could he refuse to help a stranger? How could he refuse anyone?


The thing about being in love, Wally said to Angel, is that you can’t force anyone. It’s natural to want someone you love to do what you want, or what you think would be good for them, but you have to let everything happen to them. You can’t interfere with people you love any more than you’re suppose to interfere with people you don’t even know. You can’t protect people, kiddo. All you can do is love them.


A Thousand Splendid Suns
Khaled Hosseini

“She has started hearing Babi’s voice in her head. You can be anything you want, Laila, he says. I know this about you. And I also know that when this war is over, Afghanistan is going to need you. Laila hears Mammy’s voice too. She remembers Mammy’s response to Babi when he would suggest that they leave Afghanistan. I want to see my sons’ dream come true. I want to be there when it happens, when Afghanistan is free, so the boys see it too. They’ll see it through my eyes.

Mariam remembered the dim glimmer of cold stars and the stringy pink clouds streaking over the Safid-koh mountains that long-ago morning when Nana had said to her, Like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always. You remember that, Mariam.

“One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs,
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.”