I still believe in stories. I still forget myself when I am in the middle of a good book. Books are for me, it must be said, the most important thing.

What better way to get to know someone than through her choice and treatment of books?

Tragedy alters everything.

Fate, at first so amenable, so reasonable, so open to negotiation, ends up by exacting a cruel revenge for happiness.

Of course I loved books more than people. Of course I valued "Jane Eyre" over the anonymous stranger...Of course all of Shakespeare was worth more than a human life.

But silence is not a natural environment for stories. They need words. Without them they grown pale, sicken and die. And then they haunt you.

Once upon a time there was a fairy godmother, but the rest of the time there was none. This story is about one of those other times.