And I envied her that she had chosen her work herself and was doing what she wanted to do. I don't suppose I had any idea what I 'wanted' and so I was chosen, not choosing. There's glory and honor in being chosen. But not much room for free will.

It is so hard trying to say what you mean.

I think as readers we put ourselves in the protagonist's place because we want to be like that person. That's why sometimes we don't like protagonists who aren't all that nice; we want to relate to the protagonist.

You can come back to friendship. You can let it drop, for five years or ten years, and come back to it.

But people need lift, too. People don't get moving, they don't soar, they don't achieve great heights, without someone buoying them up.

Hope is treacherous, but how can you live without it?

It's impossible to stall a Lizzie.