“Ever poised on that cusp between past and future, we tie memories to souvenirs like string to trees along lifes path, marking the trail in case we lose ourselves around a bend of tomorrows road.”

“I've never understood the desire for books with matched bindings. You don't go through life looking for sets of matched people, and books are just as individual.”

“Optimism is life with sprinkles on top.”

“Half is better than none unless it be of a wit.”

“Autumn flings her fiery cloak over the sumac, beech and oak.”

“Being a writer all boils down to this: It's you, in a chair, staring at a page. And you're either going to stay in that chair until words are written, or you're going to give up and walk away. The ...”

“When male authors write love stories, the heroine tends to end up dead.”

“Im likely to stay here, pen in hand, until dusk comes and my writing melts into the twilight.”

“Damn you, spoilt creature; I shant make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this.”

“I see that I've become a really bad correspondent. It's not that I don't think of you. You come into my thoughts often. But when you do it appears to me that I owe you a particularly grand letter. ...”

“There is no single thing... that is so cut and dried that one cannot attend to its secret whisper which says 'I am more than just my appearance'. If each object quivers with readiness to imply some...”

“Don't you believe I love you? Don't know how I can make you believe. I didn't want to kiss you goodbye--that was the trouble--I wanted to kiss you goodnight. [] Of course I love you. I love you all...”