Particularly beautiful people were like particularly funny-looking people, though. Once you know them you mostly forgot about it.

A loving soul was always more beautiful over the long haul, but actual prettiness was fleeting.

Besides being asked why I write about young characters, I am often asked how I write about young characters. How do I throw myself across the chasm of full adulthood to relive that period? I guess I don’t, really. Age is not so much a feature of your character, as the spot where you stand for a pretty fleeting time on the arc of your life.

When you feel someone else's pain and joy as powerfully as if it were your own, then you know you really loved them.

His distress and pleasure mixed and married, giving birth to several anxious children.

Time is what keeps things from happening all at once.

The dreams weren’t as pleasing when they had no chance of coming true