I want my own books to have their own shelves," you said, and that's how I knew it would be okay to live together.

And as we drift into sleep, I feel something I’ve never felt before. A closeness that isn’t merely physical. A connection that defies the fact that we’ve only just met. A sensation that can only come from the most euphoric of feelings: belonging.

Part of growing up is making sure your sense of reality isn't entirely grounded in your own mind.

I preferred to hang out with the dead, dying, or desperate books - used we call them, in a way that we'd never call a person, unless we meant it cruelly

I learn about the highs and lows of living with the same mother for your entire life, about how no one can make you angrier, but how you can't really love anyone more.

Pride is allowed to have an element of worry, especially when you are a mother.

Part of love is letting a person be who they want to be