And because nobody's done it before, they haven't made up rules to stop anyone doing that again, yet.

She was the storm, she was the lightning, she was the adult world with all its power and all its secrets and all its foolish casual cruelty.

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

Well-meaning adults can easily destroy a child’s love of reading: stop them reading what they enjoy, or give them worthy-but-dull books that you like, the 21st-century equivalents of Victorian “improving” literature. You’ll wind up with a generation convinced that reading is uncool and worse, unpleasant.

I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don't teach you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth knowing.

The imagination is a muscle. If it is not exercised, it atrophies.

When you start off, you have to deal with the problems of failure. You need to be thickskinned, to learn that not every project will survive.