That, my dear, is what makes a character interesting, their secrets.

It's a terrible thing, isn't it, the way we throw people away?

But in my humble opinion, a house needs a good party once in a while; remind folks it exists.

She felt like a fictional character who'd escaped the book in which her creator had carefully and kindly trapped her, taken a pair of scissors to her outline and leaped, free.

He had the vague sense of standing on a threshold, the crossing of which would change everything.

She says there are stories everywhere and that people who wait for the right one to come along before setting pen to paper end up with very empty pages.

Thinking of nothing. Trying to think of nothing. Thinking of everything.