You have to believe in it to get it...
Good fiction creates its own reality.
I need to write to be happy.
One of my greatest pleasures is falling into a story someone else has written.
Life is like a moustache. It can be wonderful or terrible. But it always tickles.
And yet, anything real, anything strong, was never easy. She’d been taught from an early age that the things that mattered most were the hardest to obtain.
I don’t think you can write – at least not well – if you don’t love stories, love the written word.
When something comes easy, you usually let it go the same way.
A relationship isn’t something that has to be created in a day or perfected in a day. Part of the game is to keep working on it. It’s something that’ll always be just a little flawed.
Don’t give up on your own happy-evers.
You can fix anything but a blank page.
There was nothing like a Saturday – unless it was the Saturday leading up to the last week of school and into summer vacation. That of course was all the Saturdays of your life rolled into one big shiny ball.
When somebody walks out, it leaves a hole in you. Some people fill it up, the good and the bad, and get on that way. Some people leave it open, maybe long enough to heal, maybe too long, picking at it now and then so it doesn’t heal all the way.
Do you see that out there? The strange, unfamiliar light? It’s called the sun. Let’s go get us a little.
Love is not enough. But, it is the rock on which all else stands.
I do not feel obliged in my reading. I read to be entertained and to relax, and to go into another world, not because it’s good for me.
We all look. The lucky find.
Grab it while you can because tomorrow could suck you dry.
Love can really screw you up before you learn to live with it.
Dinner’s in one hour. If you’re not back, sitting at the table, I’ll beat you all unconscious with a spatula.