It's not something you can prove....I know you hate to hear this, but you either have it, or you don't.

Ghosts were just a way that some stupid people dealt with their dull lives.

She knew this music--knew it down to the very core of her being--but she had never heard it before. Unfamiliar, it had still always been there inside her, waiting to be woken. It grew from the core of mystery that gives a secret its special delight, religion its awe. It demanded to be accepted by simple faith, not dissected or questioned, and at the same time, it begged to be doubted and probed.

What I want to do is travel deep and deeper into the dreamlands, to find that place that I know is waiting for me here. My home.

That's the thing with magic. You've got to know it's still here, all around us, or it just stays invisible for you.

The beginning of a friendship, the fact that two people out of the thousands around them can meet and connect and become friends, seems like a kind of magic to me. But maintaining a friendship requires work. I don't mean that as a bad thing. Good art requires work as well.

Not everything has to mean something. Some things just are.