Just like the old adage--what you dislike most in other people is what you dislike the most in yourself--

Mama used to say, you have to know someone a thousand days before you can glimpse her soul.

I'm the sheen on water, Rin thought. I'm a looking glass. I'm not real.

Here's the thing about home: you can create it most anywhere, as long as you gather your people around you.

I know they are naught things, but I devour novels.” (p. 57).

She closed the book and put her cheek against it. There was still an odor of a library on it, of dust, leather, binding glue, and old paper, one book carrying the smell of hundreds.

Really, becoming a writer sounds more like a mental illness than a professional choice.