Real love, after all, was worth the price you paid, however briefly it might last.

Fairytales were maps formed of blood and hair and bones; they were the knots of the sub-conscious unwound. Every word in every tale was real and as true as apples and stones. They all led to the story inside the story.

She didn't like being twelve. It felt like someplace between who she'd been and who she was about to be. It felt like no place at all.

I think growing up is difficult and it's a process that I'm always interested in, with kids and adults, they are often on two different universes.

One of my favorites is "Time and Again" by Jack Finney. It takes place in Manhattan and goes back and forth between 1882 and the 1950s. It's really a cult book.

The grass he walked through was new and a sweet smell clung to his clothes. There was blue dye on his hands from the wild irises... that the color of the sky was a shade that could never be replicated in any photograph, just as Heaven could never be seen from the confines of Earth.

When I walk, I walk with you. Where I go, you're with me always.