I heard a sigh, as though the books were breathing. I felt that this was where I belonged. This was where I lived.

Sally...can no longer think of love as a reality, or even as a possibility, however remote.

Are people drawn to each other because of the stories they carry inside?

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.

I didn’t want to be prideful anymore. I wanted to be as hard as and brittle as the stones I carted into the woods. Stones that could not feel or cry or see. I wished not to feel anything at all. In no time, what I wished for, I became.

Among men and women, those in love do not always announce themselves with declarations and vows. But they are the ones who weep when you're gone. Who miss you every single night, especially when the sky is so deep and beautiful, and the ground so very cold.

I think love is a huge factor in fiction and in real life. Is there a risk? Always. In fiction and in life