The problems with success, frankly, are infinitely preferable to the problems of failure.

Diana used to tell me she had a travel jinx, something I only really started to believe when the plane door fell off.

There are little pockets of old time in London, where things and places stay the same, like bubbles in amber,” she explained. “There’s a lot of time in London, and it has to go somewhere—it doesn’t all get used up at once.” “I may still be hung over,” sighed Richard. “That almost made sense.

We make choices. No one else can live our lives for us. And we must confront and accept the consequences of our actions.

Of course you don't believe in fairies. You're fifteen. You think I believed in fairies at fifteen? Took me until I was at least a hundred and forty. Hundred and fifty, maybe. Anyway, he wasn't a fairy. He was a librarian. All right?

Perfection is like chasing the horizon. Keep moving.

I think...that I would rather recollect a life mis-spent on fragile things than spent avoiding moral debt.