Oh, there was harm indeed for a young lady flattered by the brief attentions of a handsome man.

Cassandra always hid when she read, though she never quite knew why. It was as if she couldn't shake the guilty suspicion that she was being lazy, that surrendering herself so completely to something so enjoyable must surely be wrong. But surrender she did. Let herself drop through the rabbit hole and into a tale of magic and mystery.

Lil had always believed that a person's duty was to make the best of the hand they were dealt. No use wondering what might have been, she used to say, all that matters is what is.

But history is a faithless teller whose cruel recourse to hindsight makes fools of its actors.

Curiosity might have killed the cat, but little girls usually fared much better.

The stretch of years leaves none unmarked: the blissful sense of youthful invincibility peels away and responsibility brings its weight to bear.

All true readers have a book, a moment when real life is never going to be able to compete with fiction again.