People think they know the mystery of living in your skin. They don't. There's no one who knows except the person who carts it around her own self.

We shape ourselves by our imaginative reach.

The essence of intelligence was to know when, or if, to expose even the heart's deep need for instruction.

The world spins. We stumble on. It is enough.

Whenever summer rolls around I begin to realize that I'm a complete and utter book snob. In relation to reading, I have absolutely no guilty pleasures at all. No graphic novels. No murder mysteries. My summer read is really no different from my winter read. I know many bookshops and magazines would have me believe that our summer forays are different, but literature is literature, and unfortunately snobbery is snobbery.

How inevitable it is; we step into an ordinary moment and never come out again.

She wanted to tell him so mach, on the tarmac, the day he left. The world is run by brutal men and the surest proof is their armies. If they ask you to stand still, you should dance. If they ask you to burn the flag, wave it. If they ask you to murder, re-create.