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

Like a church bell, a coffin, and a vat of melted chocolate, a supply closet is rarely a comfortable place to hide.

For Beatrice, I cherished, you perished, The world's been nightmarished.

Sometime during your life—in fact, very soon—you may find yourself reading a book, and you may notice that a book’s first sentence can often tell you what sort of story your book contains.

The thing with your heart's desire is that your heart doesn't even know what it desires until it turns up. Like a tie at a tag sale, some perfect thing in a crate of nothing, you were just there, uninvited, and now suddenly the party was over and you were all I wanted. I hadn't even been looking, not for you, and now you were my heart's desire.

I'm not a stranger," I said, and pointed to his book. "I'm someone who reads the same authors you do.

When things don't go right, go left