She breathed deeply of the scent of decaying fiction, disintegrating history, and forgotten verse, and she observed for the first time that a room full of books smelled like dessert: a sweet snack made of figs, vanilla, glue, and cleverness.

You can't let facts get in the way of the truth.

Horror was rooted in sympathy . . . in understanding what it would be like to suffer the worst.

Who knows what may lie around the next corner? There may be a window somewhere ahead. It may look out on a field of sunflowers.

The best way to get even with anyone is to put them in the rearview mirror on your way to something better.

Maybe all the schemes of the devil were nothing compared to what man could think up.

I want you to remember what was good in me, not what was most awful. The people you love should be allowed to keep their worst to themselves.