She wanted a book to take her places she couldn't get to herself.

The time has to be right and the heart willing.

The only way we know it's true is that we both dreamed it. That's what reality is. It's a dream everyone has together.

Normality wasn't normal. It couldn't be. If normality were normal, everybody could leave it alone. They could sit back and let normality manifest itself.

It was possible to feel superior to other people and feel like a misfit at the same time.

Paris was a museum displaying exactly itself.

That's the way I will write characters, put a fair amount of myself in them, and then everyone else who was like that person, I will pick and choose.