Sophie felt as if she were encased in a glass globe called summer.

It's never too late-in fiction or in life-to revise.

The universe is always speaking to us... sending us little messages, causing coincidences and serendipities,reminding us to stop, to look around, to believe in something else, something more.

No one knows how it is that with one glance a boy can break through into a girl's heart.

No matter how wild the winds or rough the seas of life, libraries stand ready, beaming their reliable lights, guiding us toward knowledge, pleasure, consolation, wisdom, and hope.

Who is getting more pleasure from this rocking, the baby or me?

It is never, never too late, in a story or in real life, to correct.

I have discovered the meaning of life. It resides in what I can wrest from each day that I live.

You know if you pick up a beach read, you're excused from the problems in your own life and safe in a world with conflicts you understand, and you know you will get a happy ending.

Their friendship is like a tapestry in a drawer. Today is the iron passing over the cloth, smoothing out the wrinkles, bring out the pattern that makes it unique and beautiful.

Somewhere I read that human beings are the only creatures to spend the present driving themselves crazy about the future.

…the purpose of life is to nurture joy, which involves those aspects of humanity that enrich the soul.

The faster you go, the idler you get.

if you want to understand your child better then see through the child's eye.

The ultimate truth is that we are individuals who can choose to respect ourselves, and others, with or without regard to bloodline, wealth, tribe, or community.

As you can imagine, those who had fallen this far had been so worn down by their tortures in the seven other hells that they no longer had the strength to cry out.

When you're conscious and writing from a place of insight and simplicity and real caring about the truth, you have the ability to throw the lights on for your reader.

The notion of time bothers me. You look at thirty-year-old photographs and realize how the time has passed.

Never tell anyone what you are going to do till you've done it.

As it turned out, though, it was a lot easier to say that someone deserved to die for what they did than it was to take the responsibility to make that happen.

From class consciousness to class hatred was but a step.