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.

Did you think that rats do not have hearts? Wrong. All living things have a heart. And the heart of any living thing can be broken.

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.

I read my books out loud to myself because of the demands of the story and demands of language.

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

I will be brave, thought Despereaux. I will try to be brave like a knight in shining armour. I will be brave for the Princess Pea.

I show up and try, but I may have to ask myself if I need to wait and let myself regenerate and take a break. I know that this thing that makes the stories has to be treated gently. So sometimes I'll just stop and let the well fill up. With my work, sometimes I hate doing it, but I love having done it. The key is to keep doing it.