There are hearts, reader, that never mend again once they are broken. Or if they do mend, they heal themselves in a crooked and lopsided way, as if sewn together by a careless craftsman.
Reading should not be presented to children as a chore or duty. It should be offered to them as a precious gift.
Life was so short; so many beautiful things slipped away.
You are down there alone, the stars seemed to say to him. And we are up here, in our constellations, together.
There is no right or wrong way to tell a story. You have to find your own way. You can get your idea from listening, looking, or imagining. Stories are everywhere. All you have to do is pay attention.
But still, here are the words Despereaux Tilling spoke to his father. He said, “I forgive you, Pa!” And he said those words because he sensed that it was the only way to save his heart, to stop it from breaking in two. Despereaux, reader, spoke those words to save himself.
He was weeping. Although ‘weeping’ really is to small a word for the activity the kind had undertaken. Tears were cascading from his eyes. A small puddle had formed at his feet. I am not exaggerating. The king, it seemed, was intent on crying himself a river.
Hands down, the biggest thrill is to get a letter from a kid saying, I loved your book. Will you write me another one?
Every well-written book is a light for me. When you write, you use other writers and their books as guides in the wilderness.
Like most hearts, it was complicated, shaded with dark and dappled with light.
You are the ever-expanding universe to me.
There ain’t no point in making soup unless others eat it. Soup needs another mouth to taste it, another heart to be warmed by it.
Look at me, he said to her. His arms and legs jerked. Look at me. You got your wish. I have learned how to love. And it’s a terrible thing. I’m broken. My heart is broken. Help me. The old woman turned and hobbled away. Come back, thought Edward. Fix me.
I have been loved, Edward told the stars. So? said the stars. What difference does that make when you are all alone now?
Forgiveness, reader, is, I think, something very much like hope and love – a powerful, wonderful thing. And a ridiculous thing, too.
I am busier now than I ever imagined I would be, but I feel blessed in that I have found what I am supposed to be doing with my life. It’s wonderful to tell stories and have people listen to them.
We forget that the simple gesture of putting a book in someone’s hands can change a life. I want to remind you that it can. I want to thank you because it did. – 2010 Indies Choice Award.
Besides, who ever asked you what you wanted in this world, girl? The answer to that question, reader, as you well know, was absolutely no one.
Men and boys always want to go fight. They are always looking for a reason to go to war. It is the saddest thing. They have this abiding notion that war is fun. And no history lesson will convince them differently.
But let’s not speak of what might have been. Let us speak instead of what is. You are whole.
I work full-time in a used bookstore. I get up. I drink a cup of coffee. I think, The last thing I want to do is write. Then I go to the computer and write.