Never love a wild thing, Mr. Bell,’ Holly advised him. ‘That was Doc’s mistake. He was always lugging home wild things. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full-grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you can’t give your heart to a wild thing; the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they’re strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That’s how you’ll end up Mr. Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll end up looking at the sky.

I've never had an affair with somebody who wasn't at the same time a very good friend of mine, if you see what I mean.

I loved her enough to forget myself, my self pitying despairs, and be content that something she thought happy was going to happen.

I believe more in the scissors than I do in the pencil.

Writing in the first person automatically gives you a point of view.

A work of art is one of mystery, the one extreme magic; everything else is either arithmetic or biology.

The more you know about something, the harder it becomes. You become more and more of a perfectionist. I think it's a curse... It's a form of illness!