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

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

I probably coughed self-pityingly in response, little aware that I was about to cross a tremendous threshold beyond which there would be no return, that in my hands I held an object whose simple appearance belied its profound power. All true readers have a book, a moment, like the one I describe, and when Mum offered me that much-read library copy mine was upon me.

Doors lead to things and I've never met one I haven't wanted to open.

Reluctance to begin is quick to befriend procrastination. . . .

Time had a way of moulding people into shapes they themselves no longer recognised.

Mother didn't understand that children aren't frightened by stories; that their lives are full of far more frightening things than those contained in fairy tales.