You missed a lot of heartache, sure. But David, you missed a lot of joy.

The Lake of Dreams grew gradually, over many years, elements and ideas accruing until they gained enough critical mass to become a novel.

Its impossible to control the reception of your work - the only thing you can control is the experience of writing itself, and the work you create.

He fished in his pocket for his keys and instead pulled out the last geode, gray and smooth, earth-shaped. He held it, warming in his palm, thinking of all mysteries the world contained: layers of stone, concealed beneath the flesh of earth and grass; these dull rocks, with their glimmering hidden hearts.

The thing is, I used to like that: feeling special because I knew something no one else did. It's a kind of power, isn't it, knowing a secret? But lately I don't like it so much, knowing this. It's not really mine to know, is it?

Your understanding of a place changes the longer you stay; you discover more, and your own life gets woven into the fabric of the community.

He'd kept this silence because his own secrets were darker, more hidden, and because he believed that his secrets had created hers.