They were close to the end of the beginning . . .

It's the pool where we all go down to drink, to swim, to catch a little fish from the edge of the shore; it's also the pool where some hardy souls go out in their flimsy wooden boats after the big ones. It is the pool of life, the cup of imagination, and she has an idea that different people see different versions of it, but with two things ever in common: it's always about a mile deep in the Fairy Forest, and it's always sad. Because imagination isn't the only thing this place is about.

Some tears have to be cried no matter what the hour- until they are, they simply rave and burn inside.

An idea is like a cold germ: sooner or later someone always catches it.

The simple truth of things is that bad dreams are far better than bad wakings.

We'll just have to get along. That's what people do, you know? They just get along. And try to help each other.

Bad writing is more than a matter of (expletive deleted) syntax and faulty observation; bad writing usually arises from a stubborn refusal to tell stories about what people actually do to face the fact, let us say, that murderers sometimes help old ladies cross the street.