I like to visit my horse, have a walk with my dog.

The night swallowed him up like a thieving fox.

You know, it's a funny thing about writers. Most people don't stop to think of books being written by people much like themselves. They think that writers are all dead long ago--they don't expect to meet them in the street or out shopping. They know their stories but not their names, and certainly not their faces. And most writers like it that way.

a book always keeps something of its owner between its pages.

She had only to open a door, nothing but a door between the words,just large enough for her and Farid to pass through.

They wouldn't tell Scipio how much of the counterfeit cash was left since, as Riccio put it, 'You're a detective now, after all.

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