Then I thought, boy, isn't that just typical? You wait and wait and wait for something, and then when it happens, you feel sad.

You can't keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair.

Maybe it was the same with people: if you studied them,you'd see new and different things. But would you like what you saw? Did it depend on who was doing the looking?

I don't remember titles of books or authors from when I was young. I remember the title of only one book, which was 'The Timber Toes.' I remember it was a family of little wooden people who lived in the woods, and for some reason that stayed with me.

Once 'Walk Two Moons' received the Newbery Medal, I decided to write full-time. Partly because there seemed to be an audience out there who wanted to read what I wanted to write, and partly because I could now support myself financially through writing.

What exactly did people do when they had all the time in the world and could do whatever they liked?

In a course of a lifetime, what does it matter?