Each day the storm clouds were opening like great purple flowers and pouring out their dark thunder. Each nightfall, the storm was laid down on their houses like a burden the day had carried.

I wanted to read immediately. The only fear was that of books coming to an end.

The mystery in how little we know of other people is no greater than the mystery of how much, Laurel thought.

Learning stamps you with its moments. Childhood's learning is made up of moments. It isn't steady. It's a pulse.

There is absolutely everything in great fiction but a clear answer.

Gardening is akin to writing stories. No experience could have taught me more about grief or flowers, about achieving survival by going, your fingers in the ground, the limit of physical exhaustion.

All good writers speak in honest voices and tell the truth.