Normal people bring children into the world; we novelists bring books. We are condemned to put our whole lives into them, even though they hardly ever thank us for it. We are condemned to die in their pages and sometimes even to let our books be the ones who, in the end, will take our lives.

Childhood devotions make unfaithful and fickle lovers.

I tried to swallow his nonsense without choking.

Sometimes, in difficult circumstances, one can confuse compassion with love.

Some like to believe it's the book that chooses the person.

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

Well, this is a story about books." About books?" About accursed books, about a man who wrote them, about a character who broke out of the pages of anovel so that he could burn it, about a betrayal and a lost friendship. It's a story of love, of hatred, and of the dreams that live in the shadow of the wind." You talk like the jacket blurb of a Victorian novel, Daniel." That's probably because I work in a bookshop and I've seen too many. But this is a true story.