There is really no end to life's little humiliations.

I guess I was raised in a household with a lot of reverence for the physical sanctity of books. You didn't destroy books.

Don't take anyone's writing advice too seriously.

Wasn't there a spell for making yourself happy? Somebody must have invented one. How could he have missed it? Why didn't they teach it? Was it in the library, a flying book fluttering just out of reach, beating its wings against some high window?

For just one second, look at your life and see how perfect it is. Stop looking for the next secret door that is going to lead you to your real life. Stop waiting. This is it: there's nothing else. It's here, and you'd better decide to enjoy it or you're going to be miserable wherever you go, for the rest of your life, forever.

Magic is wild, dangerous stuff. You never realize how useful limitations are until it's much too late.

Book tours are excellent things, and one is lucky to get to go on one, but they have a way of leeching away one's will to live.