There's almost always a point in a book where something happens that triggers the rest of the plot.

I write about what interests me. It's very dangerous when you try to satisfy an audience.

Krakow is one of my favorite places on earth. It is a medieval city full of young people. A wonderful, striking combination.

Fear pounds on the door to our heart demanding to be let in. Joy is modest and often comes into our lives like a shy person entering a room; it can take a while to even notice it's there.

Buying a pair of shoes is one of the most optimistic acts I know, next to falling in love. I like nothing better than to see an old man wearing a brand new pair of brogues or cap-toed oxfords, preferably jaunty orange-brown, unscuffed, heels unworn. We want to be here tomorrow, but buying new shoes, like falling in love, says I plan on being here tomorrow.

Sometimes it is the smallest thing that saves us: the weather growing cold, a child's smile, and a cup of excellent coffee.

At a Boston signing, someone from the audience asked why I was so obsessed with furniture in my books. The question rattled around in my head. I had no idea that I was obsessed with furniture.