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.

Everyone is small at night.

She read and read and read, but she was stuffing herself with the letters on the page like an unhappy child stuffing itself with chocolate. They didn’t taste bad, but she was still unhappy.

you can not fully read a book without being alone. But through this very solitude you become intimately involved with people whom you might never have met otherwise, either because they have been dead for centuries or because they spoke languages you cannot understand. And, nonetheless, they have become your closest friends, your wisest advisors, the wizards that hypnotize you, the lovers you have always dreamed of. -Antonio munoz molinas, "the power of the pen

Why did death make life taste so much sweeter? Why could the heart love only what it could also lose?

Children are caterpillars and adults are butterflies. No butterfly ever remembers what it felt like being a caterpillar.

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.