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

There’s something about hospital walls; though only made of bricks and plaster, when you’re inside them the noise, the reality of the teeming city beyond, disappears; it’s just outside the door, but it might as well be a magical land far, far away.

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

Nell was not one for friends and had never hidden her distaste for most other humans, their neurotic compulsion for the acquisition of allies.

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

I'd pretty much given up hope of being published, so I just wrote the book I wanted to read.

It is a cruel, ironical art, photography. The dragging of captured moments into the future; moments that should have been allowed to be evaporate into the past; should exist only in memories, glimpsed through the fog of events that came after. Photographs force us to see people before their future weighed them down.