She is a real bookworm. I think she lives on print. Her whole house is full of books - looks as if she likes them better than human company.

Nothing chased nightmares away faster than the rustle of printed paper.

The night breathed through the apartment like a dark animal. The ticking of a clock. The groan of a floorboard as he slipped out of his room. All was drowned by its silence. But Jacob loved the night. He felt it on his skin like a promise. Like a cloak woven from freedom and danger.

Why would we ever want to go back when your world is so accommodating with your telephones and your guns and what's that sticky stuff called ...duct tape.

Children, they're the same everywhere. Greedy little creatures but the best listeners in the world - any world. The very best of all.

Because fear kills everything," Mo had once told her. "Your mind, your heart, your imagination.

Writing stories is a kind of magic, too.