All of that loneliness and longing in my heart got transferred into the book Because of Winn-Dixie, I guess.

And hope is like love...a ridiculous, wonderful, powerful thing.

She was working to remind herself of who she was. She was working to remember that somewhere in another place entirely she was known and loved.

I work full-time in a used bookstore. I get up. I drink a cup of coffee. I think, The last thing I want to do is write. Then I go to the computer and write.

It's a weird kind of disconnect that this whole story [he Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane] grew around a real doll of mine, and here he is, with his "Edward" expression on his face. It's kind of reality bumping into fantasy.

We all live in fear of getting blocked no matter what kind of art we're trying to do. It happens all the time, but I prefer to think of it as a bad day.

I love words; I love the way they sound. Once I've worked on everything else, the last drafts of my books come down to how they sound.