None of us know where our stories come from. That's why writers make fun of people who ask us where we get our ideas... because we don't know.

He wondered how it could have taken him so long to realize he cared for her, and he told her so, and she called him an idiot, and he declared that it was the finest thing that ever a man had been called.

I lived in books more than I lived anywhere else.

I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too.

He wondered whether home was a thing that happened to a place after a while, or if it was something that you found in the end, if you simply walked and waited and willed it long enough.

Somebody said that writers are like otters... Otters, if they do a trick and you give them a fish, the next time they'll do a better trick or a different trick because they'd already done that one. And writers tend to be otters. Most of us get pretty bored doing the same trick. We've done it, so let's do something different.

Black as night, sweet as sin.