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.

As much pleasure as young people get from Twittering and texting, there is no way these activities will nourish their minds and spirits the way literature can.

Nothing smelled so good or danced so well as a birch fire.

...One reason I became a writer was that I figured out that if you call yourself a writer, you can read all you want and people think that you are working.

To fear is one thing. To let fear grab you by the tail and swing you around is another.

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.

...those of us who write for children are called, not to do something to a child, but be someone for a child.