Places have their own characters. . . . But the people begin to look the same.

The battle of good and evil reduced to a fat woman standing in front of a chocolate shop, saying, Will I? Won’t I? in pitiful indecision.

I've nothing against kids reading anything they please, but I do have a problem with pink books for girls and black books for boys.

The great thing about books is that you can end with a question mark.

I think everybody has a secret life.

Some people spend the whole of their lives sitting waiting for one train, only to find that they never even made it to the station.

That wind. I see it's blowing now. Furtive but commanding, it has dictated every move we've ever made. My mother felt it, and so do I - even here, even now - as it sweeps us like leaves into his backseat corner, dancing us to shreds against the stones. V'la l'bon vent, v'a l'joli vent. I though we'd silenced it for good. But the smallest thing can wake the wind@ a word, a sign, even a death. There's no such thing as a trivial thing. Everything costs; it all adds up until finally the balance shifts and we're gone again, back on the road, telling ourselves - well maybe next time