Books may well be the only true magic.

It was as if hope had appeared out of nowhere to settle beside her and it wasn't going anywhere, it wasn't going to desert her now.

It was the sort of beauty you feel so deeply it becomes contagious and somehow makes you feel beautiful too.

Hawthorne has given us a tradition that some people refer to as Yankee Magic Realism, and I do think there is a certain quality to the landscape that definitely leads into the dark woods.

Do you ever just put your arms out and just spin and spin and spin? Well, that's what love is like; everything inside of you tells you to stop before you fall, but for some reason you just keep going.

My grief was cold. It was nothing to share. It was nothing to speak about, nothing to feel.

He wanted pain, I saw that in him, and what a man wants he will often manage to find.