Every author ought to write every book as if he were going to be beheaded the day he finished it.
Very well then, better a sane crook than a mad puritan.
He dispensed starlight to casual moths.
That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.
I used to build dreams about you.
I’m not sure what I’ll do, but— well, I want to go places and see people. I want my mind to grow. I want to live where things happen on a big scale.