Remember this when you are queen,” he whispered hoarsely. “I moved the earth and the water for you.

It's saying no. That's your first hint that something's alive. It says no. That's how you know a baby is starting to turn into a person. They run around saying no all day, throwing their aliveness at everything to see what it'll stick to. You can't say no if you don't have desires and opinions and wants of your own. You wouldn't even want to. No is the heart of thinking.

I have all the books I could need, and what more could I need than books?

I am a practical girl, and a life is only so long. It should be spent in as much peace and good eating and good reading as possible and no undue excitement. That is all I am after.

We all just keep moving, September. We keep moving until we stop.

I've always had enough, even if my enough and your enough are as different as an elephant and a minaret.

Children make prayers so thoughtlessly, building them up like sand castles—and they are always surprised when suddenly the castle becomes real, and the iron gate grinds shut.