I lay on the bed and lost myself in stories. I liked that. Books were safer than other people anyways.

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

I thought about moving south, about continuing to run, continuing to pretend I was alive. But it was, I knew now, much too late for that. There are doors, after all, between the living and the dead, and they swing in both directions.

There is a proverbial saying chiefly concerned with warning against too closely calculating the numerical value of un-hatched chicks.

Is there any person in the world who does not dream? Who does not contain within them worlds unimagined?

Peas baffled me. I could not understand why grown-ups would take things that tasted so good raw, and then put them in tins, and make them revolting.

How can you be happy in this world? You have a hole in your heart. You have a gateway inside you to lands beyond the world you know. They will call you, as you grow.