Life is hard. Life is beautiful. Life is difficult. Life is wonderful.

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.

If I am just home and writing, I become very strange.

Nobody ever learns anything.

In a dark time, doors will sometimes magically open and let us step inside to the warmth and light of a community.

I have been loved, Edward told the stars. So? said the stars. What difference does that make when you are all alone now?

I'm at the mercy of whatever character comes into my head.