Sometimes, when you're so sad you don't know what to do, it helps to be angry.

The book she had been reading was under her pillow, pressing its cover against her ear as if to lure her back into its printed pages.

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.

Sometimes it's a good thing we don't remember things half as well as books do.

A library book, I imagine, is a happy book.

It's a cruel world, don't you think?

I wish I had more time to visit schools.