Books fall open, you fall in. When you climb out again, you're a bit larger than you used to be.
We live in our tales of ourselves, she thought, and ignore as best we can the contradictions, and the lapses, and the abrasions of plot against our mortal souls.
If you have an ancestor who is a Benedictine monk, we would rather not know it.
There may be no city in the clouds, but dreaming of it can enliven the spirit.
Doubt was much more energy efficient than conviction.
She dreamed of leaving, but she had too little exposure to the world to imagine where to go.