I carried recipes in my head like maps.

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

For me, the magic of Hawaii comes from the stillness, the sea, the stars.

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.

I let it go. It's like swimming against the current. It exhausts you. After a while, whoever you are, you just have to let go, and the river brings you home.

She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world.

Our lives are like these things I make. Turn 'em, build 'em, bake 'em in fire. That's what you've been, son. Baked and fired. But a pot don't have the right to choose whether he be for water, wine, or just left empty. You have, son. You have.