Sometimes it seemed to him that his life was delicate as a dandelion. One little puff from any direction, and it was blown to bits.

The difference between writing a story and simply relating past events is that a story, in order to be acceptable, must have shape and meaning. It is the old idea that art is the bringing of order out of chaos.

I have been mocked by beauty, too. But it was the beauty which cost me nothing that in the end turned upon me.

My heart is heavy, she thought. It’s not just a saying. It is what is—heavy, a great stone lodged in my breast, pressing down my whole being. How can I even stand straight and look out upon the world? I am doubled over into myself and, for all the weight, find only emptiness.

I love revision. Where else can spilled milk be turned into ice cream?

It is not enough to simply teach children to read; we have to give them something worth reading. Something that will stretch their imaginations- something that will help them make sense of their own lives and encourage them to reach out toward people whose lives are quite different from their own.

What I have come to believe is that joy is the twin sister of gratitude. I am most joyful when I am most grateful.