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

At midnight the wind in the tress can sound like the ocean. The moonlight can make a road appear as endless as the sea.

She was disappearing a little more each day, so thin, so frail, a wisp of smoke. One day she would surely vanish altogether, and there was no way to stop her.

Books may well be the only true magic.

I wasn't quite as certain that I knew her soul. When it came right down to it, I wasn't sure she knew me either.

That was the way illness appeared in a house, in the corners, in between floorboards, on the hooks in the closet, along with the sweaters and coats.

I feel like my eyes are killing me at the end of the day and that I shouldn't use them.