My first favourite book was Are You My Mother? A picture book about a lost bird. After that my favourites changed almost yearly. I loved everything by Roald Dahl, but my favourite was probably Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. A librarian gave me a first edition of that book, which I treasure.

Tampons. I’m constantly worrying about my stash and if I’ll be able to find more.

Sarcasm doesn't appear to work on him. If that's true, I'm in trouble: It's my normal mode of communication.

It isn't that the lies are too beautiful to resist. It's that the truth is too hideous to face.

That's what you do when the curtain is falling--you give the line that the audience wants to hear.

I didn't show up here to give your life purpose now that your life's over. That's up to you to figure out.

What boy my age didn’t dream of fleeing the well-tended lawn and lamp-lit street for the untamed wilderness, where grand adventure awaited on the other side of the horizon, where the stars burned undimmed in the velvet sky above his head and the virgin ground lay untrodden beneath his feet?