Of many magics, one is watching a beloved sleep: free of eyes and awareness, you for a sweet moment hold the heart of him; helpless, he is then all, and however irrationally, you have trusted him to be, man-pure, child-tender.

Just remember: If one bird carried every grain of sand, grain by grain, across the ocean, by the time he got them all on the other side, that would only be the beginning of eternity.

You can’t give your heart to a wild thing.

Sometimes when I think how good my book can be, I can hardly breathe.

I was eleven, then I was sixteen. Though no honors came my way, those were the lovely years.

I've never been a teacher in my life.

Finishing a book is just like you took a child out in the back yard and shot it.