When writing a novel, that's pretty much entirely what life turns into: 'House burned down. Car stolen. Cat exploded. Did 1500 easy words, so all in all it was a pretty good day.

Richard opened his hand, and the key stared up at him from his palm. "By my crooked teeth," asked Richard, remembering, "who am I?

I'm willing to make a fool out of myself in public. I'm also willing to make those mistakes that you're going to make the first time you go out, so hopefully the next time it will be better.

Everything here is so weak, little girl. Everything breaks so easily. They want such simple things.

The sky had never seemed so sky; the world had never seemed so world.

We get to experience the same thing in very different ways with different parts of ourselves.

I was not scared of anything, when I read my book.