Her curiosity was too much for her. She felt almost as if she could hear the books whispering on the other side of the half-open door. They were promising her a thousand unknown stories, a thousand doors into worlds she had never seen before.

What's that sticky stuff called? Basta: Duct tape. Yes, duct tape. I love duct tape.

I just did a picture book called The Wildest Brother on Earth, and you will find both of my children in there.

I remember the feeling. Whenever my father got so absorbed in a book that we might have been in visible I felt like taking a pair of scissors and cutting it up.

Since when does the butterfly ask about the caterpillar?

Neither Goyl nor men lived long enough to understand that yesterday was born of tomorrow, just as tomorrow was born of yesterday.

Didn't books say that too: that there is always price to pay for happiness?