This ability to exist in pieces is what some adults call resilience. And I suppose in some way it is a kind of resilience, a horrible resilience that makes adults believe children forget trauma.

When we finish a book, why do we hold it in both hands and gaze at it as if it were somehow alive?

The happy ending is hardly important, though we may be glad its there. The real joy is knowing that if you felt the trouble in the story, your kingdom isnt dead.

Humor is such a wonderful thing, helping you realize what a fool you are but how beautiful that is at the same time.

You'll never call him Fifi again.

Dear Anyone Who Finds This, Do not blame the drugs.

If I had had me for a student I would have thrown me out of class immediately.