Stories have a way of changing faces. They are unruly things, undisciplined, given to delinquency and the throwing of erasers. This is why we must close them up into thick, solid books, so they cannot get out and cause trouble.

A library is never complete. That’s the joy of it. We are always seeking one more book to add to our collection.

Readers will always insist on adventures, and though you can have grief without adventures, you cannot have adventures without grief.

All jobs are odd, or they would be games or naps or picnics.

Your past's a private matter, sweetheart. You just keep it locked up in xbox where it can't hurt anyone.

I have made calculations that would beggar your soul. What is it that villains always say at the end of stories? You and I are more alike than you think? Well,” the Marquess took September’s hand in hers and very gently kissed it. “We are. Oh, how alike we are! I feel very warmly towards you, and I only want to protect you, as I wish someone had protected me. Come, September, look out the window with me. It’s not a difficult thing. A show of faith, let’s call it.

I believe we have an utterly unique specimen on our hands: a child who listens.