When reason sleeps, the monsters of repression will emerge.

I simply love writing good stories, that's my passion.

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.

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.

Round and round the questions flew, until finally I found myself standing at the open door of a bookshop. It’s natural in times of great perplexity, I think, to seek out the familiar, and the high shelves and long rows of neatly lined-up spines were immensely reassuring. Amid the smell of ink and binding, the dusty motes in beams of strained sunlight, the embrace of warm, tranquil air, I felt that I could breathe more easily.

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

She either confused me with a much older child or else she glimpsed deep inside my soul and perceived a hole that needed filling. I've always chosen to believe the latter. After all, it's the librarian's one sworn purpose to bring books together with their one true reader.