Hope. Nothing is more intoxicating.
Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times?
My grandmother told stories; she was very good at that.
Nothing chased nightmares away faster than the rustle of printed paper.
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.
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.