I am remarkably likeable. Few people have ever been as likeable as I am. There is, frankly, no end to my likeability. People gather together in public assemblies to discuss how much they like me. I have several awards, and a small medal from a small country in South America which pays tribute both to how much I am liked and my general all around wonderfulness. I don't have it on me, of course. I keep my medals in my sock drawer.

I still love the book-ness of books, the smell of books: I am a book fetishist—books to me are the coolest and sexiest and most wonderful things there are.

And then it went, and time passed properly once more, every second following every other second just like they're meant to.

Anyone who calls you "little lady" has already excluded you from the set of people worth listening to.

Things bloosom in their time. They bud and bloom, blossom and fade. Everything in its time.

I see libraries and librarians as frontline soldiers in the war against illiteracy and the lack of imagination.

Start telling the stories that only you can tell.