Few things are better in the world than a room full of librarians. I consider them literary heroes. The keepers and defenders of the written word.

Now here's a good one: you're lying on your deathbed. You have one hour to live. Who is it, exactly, you have needed all these years to forgive?

In winter the very ground seemed to reach up and grab the elderly, yanking them to earth as though hungry for them.

To be honest, the only thing I ever really wanted to be was a writer - since I read 'Charlotte's Web' as a child.

The night is a strawberry.

Her voice was slightly accented but her French was perfect. Someone who'd not just learned the language but loved it. And it showed with every syllable. Gamache knew it was impossible to split language from culture. That without one the other withered. To love the language was to respect the culture.

He tried to let her know it would be all right. Eventually. Life wouldn't always be this painful. The world wouldn't always be this brutal. Give it time, little one. Give it another chance. Come back.