What would make me happiest is if kids read these books [Bink & Gollie] and think: there is so much to love in the world; and words are so much fun.

SEASONS PASSED, FALL AND WINTER and spring and summer. Leaves blew in through the open door of Lucius Clarke’s shop, and rain, and the green outrageous hopeful light of spring. People came and went, grandmothers and doll collectors and little girls with their mothers. Edward Tulane waited. The seasons turned into years. Edward Tulane waited. He repeated the old doll’s words over and over until they wore a smooth groove of hope in his brain: Someone will come; someone will come for you.

We must ask ourselves these questions as often as we dare. How will the world change if we do not question it?

There can be a lot of longevity in the repetition of things being told again and again in a variety of ways.

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.

It is important that you say what you mean to say. Time is too short. You must speak the words that matter.

All of God's creatures have names, every last one of them. Of that I am sure: of that I have no doubt at all.