There is nothing harder, at moments, than talking to someone who has all the power of silence.

As you know, human history is full of evil deeds, and maybe we ought to think of them with tears, not fascination.

For the first time, I had been struck by the excitement of the traveler who looks history in her subtle face.

In the end, I always act from the heart, even if I also value reason and tradition. I wish I could explain why, but I don't know.

And how could anyone consent to give up the smell of open books, old or new?

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

...what will we someday do, I always wonder, without the pleasures of turning through books and stumbling on things we never meant to find?