He didn't remember, he didn't worry, he just was.

I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know.

Before we left, Grandmother talked a lot about the arctic night we would fly through. 'Isn't it a mystical word, "arctic"? Pure and quite hard. And meridians. Isn't that pretty? We're going to fly along them, faster than the light can follow us... Time won't be able to catch us.

You can't always be friendly. It's impossible, there isn't the time.

But he thought all the strange words were beautiful, and he had never had a book of his own before.

It was a particularly good evening to begin a book.

The thing about God, she thought, is that He usually does help, but not until you've made an effort on your own.