I was never a fan of anything, and yet some people are fans of my books. That's a bit odd. But I like meeting them.

The burning of a book is a sad, sad sight, for even though a book is nothing but ink and paper, it feels as if the ideas contained in the book are disappearing as the pages turn to ashes and the cover and binding--which is the term for the stitching and glue that holds the pages together--blacken and curl as the flames do their wicked work. When someone is burning a book, they are showing utter contempt for all of the thinking that produced its ideas, all of the labor that went into its words and sentences, and all of the trouble that befell the author . . .

An Overall Feeling of Doom that One Cannot Ever Escape no Matter What One Does

You'd think that sweet would be a land far, far away from irritating, but as it turns out they're right next door, and always having border disputes.

I decided that it might be interesting to have terrible things happen to orphans over and over again.

I'd finished the first two [books] and they were going to to be published, and [editor] said, "We need you to write a summary that will drive people to these books." And it took forever. I couldn't think of a thing to say. I looked at the back of other children's books that were full of giddy praise and corny rhetorical questions, you know, "Will she have a better time at summer camp than she thinks?" "How will she escape from the troll's dungeon?" All these terrible, terrible summaries of books, and I just couldn't.

...there's nothing wrong with occasionally staring out the window and thinking nonsense, as long as the nonsense is yours.