Water for Elephants

By Sara Gruen

Water for Elephants

 4.1 

Water for Elephants

101 Quotes    4.1 

2007 BookBrowse Award winner for Most Popular Book. An atmospheric, gritty, and compelling novel by Riding Lessons' bestselling author, star-crossed lovers, set in the circus world around 1932. When Jacob Jankowski, recently orphaned and suddenly drifting, jumps onto a passing train, he ente... rs a world of freaks, drifters, and misfits, a second-rate circus struggling to survive during the Great Depression, making one night stand in city after endless city. A veterinary student who has almost earned his degree, Jacob is commissioned to look after the circus menagerie. It is here that he meets the charismatic but twisted animal trainer Marlena, the beautiful young star of the equestrian act, who is married to August. He also meets Rosie, an elephant who, until he discovers a way to reach her, seems untrainable. Water for Elephants is beautifully written, illuminated with a wonderful sense of time and place. It tells a love story between two people that overcomes unbelievable odds in a world where even love is a luxury that few can afford.

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  • PUBLISHED BY

    Algonquin books

  • PUBLISHED ON

    May 1, 2007

  • ISBN

    1565125606 , 9781565125605

  • FORMAT

    Kindle Edition

  • LANGUAGE

    English

  • NO. OF PAGES

    369

Quotes from Water for Elephants

I roll onto my side and stare out the venetian blinds at the blue sky beyond. After a few minutes I'm lulled into a sort of peace. The sky, the sky--same as it always was.

but it's no use. I m already on my feet. She drags me onto the dance floor, jiving and snapping her fingers. When we're surrounded by other couples she turns to me. I take a deep breath and then take her in my arms. We wait a couple beats and then we're off, floating around the dance floor in a swirling sea of people. She's light as air--doesn't miss a step, and that's a feat considering how clumsy I am. And it's not as though I don't know how to dance, because I do. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. I'm sure as hell not drunk.

When you are five, you know your age down to the month. Even in your twenties, you know how old you are. I'm twenty-three you say, or maybe twenty-seven. But then in your thirties, something strange starts to happen. It is a mere hiccup at first, an instant of hesitation. How old are you? Oh, I'm--you start confidently, but then you stop. You were going to say thirty-three, but you are not. You're thirty-five. And then you're bothered, because you wonder if this is the beginning of the end. It is, of course, but it's decades before you admit it.

I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin.
I want.

Age is a terrible thief. Just when you're getting the hang of life, it knocks your legs out from under you and stoops your back. It makes you ache and muddies your head and silently spreads cancer throughout your spouse.

Dear God. Not only am I unemployed and homeless, but I also have a pregnant woman, bereaved dog, elephant, and eleven horses to take care of.

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