I find writing extremely difficult. I usually have to drag myself to my desk, mainly because I doubt myself. And it's getting harder because I want to improve with every book.

It's about glowing lights and small things that are big.

An attribute of Rosa Hubermann, she was a good woman for a crisis.

Often I wish this would all be over, Liesel, but then somehow you do something like walk down the basement steps with a snowman in your hands.

Shadows of cloud lurked in the water, like holes the sun forgot about.

You cannot be afraid, Read the book. Smile at it. It's a great book-the greatest book you've ever read.

Of course, I'm being rude. I'm spoiling the ending, not only of the entire book, but of this particular piece of it. I have given you two events in advance, because I don't have much interest in building mystery. Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me. There are many things to think of. There is much story.