Every writer hopes his or her book will be its own thing.

My guess is that he remembers some of me, some of us together, and the rest rolled off him like topsoil in a flash flood.

I've noticed Dracula was often as practical a fellow as he was a nasty one.

Faith is simply whatever is real to us.

I've read there is no such thing as a single tear, that old poetic trope. And perhaps there isn't, since hers was simply a companion to my own.

It was good to walk into a library again; it smelled like home.

Then you must say to her, 'Madame, I observe that your heart is broken. Allow me to repair it for you.