How can you go out on a limb if you do not know your own tree? No art ever came out of not risking your neck. And risk--experiment--is a considerable part of the joy of doing.

Writers and travelers are mesmerized alike by knowing of their destinations.

Time is anonymous; when we give it a face, it's the same face the world over.

I read library books as fast as I could go, rushing them home in the basket of my bicycle. From the minute I reached our house, I started to read. Every book I seized on, from “Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue at Camp Rest-a-While” to “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,” stood for the devouring wish to read being instantly granted. I knew this was bliss, knew it at the time. Taste isn’t nearly so important; it comes in its own time.

Out of love you can speak with straight fury.

Suppose you meet me in the woods.

Any room in our house at any time in the day was there to read in or to be read to.