The truth is what hurts

I tried to swallow his nonsense without choking.

Every book has a soul, the soul of the person who wrote it and the soul of those who read it and dream about it.

I wondered what on earth she saw in me that could make her want to befriend me, other than a pale reflection of herself, an echo of solitude and loss. In my ..reveries, we were always two fugitives riding on the spine of a book, eager to escape into worlds of fiction and second hand dreams

And here I was thinking you were a bit slow, what with so much asking and not knowing anything.

You young people never say anything. And us old folks don't know how to stop talking.

Fools talk, cowards are silent, wise men listen.