She doesn't know I cry for the changing times. That just as I reread favourite books, some small part of me hoping for a different ending, I find myself hoping against hope that the war will never come. That this time, somehow, it will leave us be.

She's one of the few people able to look beyond the lines on my face to see the twenty-year-old who lives inside.

There's a market for mysteries for adults. That feeling of opening a book and delving inside and not coming out until you've closed the book.

Quite simply the book and I were meant to be together.

After all, it's the librarian's sworn purpose to bring books together with their one true reader.

Darling girl, blinded by foolish thoughts of love. How to tell her that the hearts of men were not so easily won. If won, rarely kept.

She was the sort of person for whom fear was the natural response to that beyond explanation.