I don't know the significance of this, but I find it very interesting.

I just laid around in my bed, looking at the ceiling, and i smiled because it was a nice kind of quiet.

I think they were afraid that some of us would try to kill ourselves or something because they looked very tense and one of them kept touching his beard.

How about your favorite book?" "This Side of Paradise by From. Scott Fitzgerald." "Why?" "Because it was the last one I read." This made them laugh because they knew I meant it honest, not show-off. Then they told me their favorites, and we sat quiet.

It's strange the times people choose to be generous.

When you publish a book, you do so in part to end the silence. All censorship is silence. I would never, as an author, feel right requiring a young person whose family would object to the book to read it. Just as I would never force that person to read it, I would ask those folks to not force others not to read it. To me, that is just good manners.

I don't even remember the season. I just remember walking between them and feeling for the first time that I belonged somewhere.