There were days when he touched the tip of her nose and it was enough, a miracle of plenty.

And she walked away, and she walked away, and that was that, and that was that.

So many times I've encountered people who are just kind of like, 'Yeah, Nigeria,' and, you know, thump their chest and seem very sure of, like, being Nigerian. And I'm just kind of, like, I wish I could be that sure.

I know of witches who whistle at different pitches, calling things that don't have names.

There were days when he touched the tip of her nose and it was enough, a miracle of plenty.

Solitary people, these book lovers. I think it's swell that there are people you don't have to worry about when you don't see them for a long time, you don't have to wonder what they do, how they're getting along with themselves. You just know that they're all right, and probably doing something they like.

Imagine having a mother who worries that you read too much. The question is, what is it that's supposed to happen to people who read too much? How can you tell when someone's crossed the line.