I just finished Colson Whitehead's "The Underground Railroad," which I think is a work of genius.

I love fairy tales and feel very affected by them.

Jill told me that when you're really in love, you know right away. I'm not exactly sure how this happens. Is it like a flash of lightning? Like an angel tapping you on the shoulder? Or is it similar to choosing a puppy? You think you're picking the cutest one, but really you wind up going home with the one who keeps insisting on climbing into your lap.

What did you see?' he asked then. Nothing,' I told him. 'Because nothing is what you wanted me to see, though the man on the table might disagree.

That is the joy of reading fiction: when all is said and done, the novel belongs to the reader and his or her imagination.

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.

How could I have been so stupid to ignore everything I’d had in my life? The color red alone was worth kingdoms.