I kept asking myself if I felt different, if I was different. The answer was always yes. I was no longer nothing… How odd, I thought; it had taken my mother’s death, Father Quinel’s murder, and the desire of others to kill me to claim a life of my own.

A sailor may choose the wind to ride out of seaport, but the wind has a mind of it's own.

Now give me a kiss, say you love me and off you go." "Sure, Aunt Lu," I said, and I gave her the kiss she wanted. Then I ran out and caught my bus. I didn't say I loved her. I guess I did. But asking someone to say they love you--and she always asked--is like buying yourself a birthday present. It's more than likely exactly what you want. But it must make you feel awfully sad to get it.

There are those who'd rob a blind man of his eyelashes if they could.

All I can think is that when you torment a person...the soul dies. When the soul dies, I suppose mercy dies, too.

The cure for unhappiness...It's this: What a person needs is always more than they say.

For heaven's sake, don't write writing. Write reading!