Read to your children Twenty minutes a day; You have the time, And so do they. Read while the laundry is in the machine; Read while the dinner cooks; Tuck a child in the crook of your arm And reach for the library books. Hide the remote, Let the computer games cool, For one day your children will be off to school; Remedial? Gifted? You have the choice; Let them hear their first tales In the sound of your voice. Read in the morning; Read over noon; Read by the light of Goodnight Moon. Turn the pages together, Sitting close as you'll fit, Till a small voice beside you says, "Hey, don't quit.

I'm so far gone that I'm telling the truth. It sounds like a foreign language.

Fame is a funny thing, like a secret, both are hard to keep.

Because nobody but a reader ever became a writer.

We don't write what we know. We write what we wonder about.

[A young adult novel] ends not with happily ever after, but at a new beginning, with the sense of a lot of life yet to be lived.

I caught a glimpse of happiness, and saw it was a bird on a branch, fixing to take wing.