I'm predisposed to think that as a people, we're hardwired to understand things through the telling of stories. I think that as human beings it's part of who we are.

There ain't a body, be it mouse or man, that ain't made better by a little soup.

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 don't think about being a celebrity.

I have learned how to love. And it's a terrible thing. I'm broken. My heart is broken. Help me.

I need to write, and I can't write when I'm on the road.

Never in his life had Edward been cradled like a baby. Abilene had not done it. Nor had Nellie. And most certainly, Bull had not. It was a singular sensation to be held so gently and yet so fiercely, to be stared down at with so much love. Edward felt the whole of his china body flood with warmth. (page 128)