I’ve a devil of a habit for being right.

The great blessing and great cruelty of youth is that there seems to be time enough.

How much better if life were more like books, if life lied a little more, and gave up its stubborn and boring adherence to the way things can be, and thought a little more imaginatively about the way things might be.

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

Hearts set about finding other hearts the moment they are born, and between them, they weave nets so frightfully strong and tight that you end up bound forever in hopeless knots, even to the shadow of a beast you knew and loved long ago.

You are going to break your promise. I understand. And I hold my hands over the ears of my heart, so that I will not hate you.

I want to keep on living forever and watching heroes and fools and knights go up and down, into the world and out. I want to keep being myself and mind the work that minds me. Work is not always a hard thing that looms over your years. Sometimes, work is the gift of the world to the wanting.