“When you are old and grey and full of sleep And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep”

“To feel most beautifully alive means to be reading something beautiful, ready always to apprehend in the flow of language the sudden flash of poetry.”

“People who believe they have bad luck create bad luck. Those who believe they are very fortunate, that the world is a generous place filled with trustworthy people, live in exactly that kind of world.”

“With one day’s reading a man may have the key in his hands.”

“I love the place; the magnificent books; I require books as I require air.”

“You read a book for the story, for each of its words,” Gordy said, “and you draw your cartoons for the story, for each of the words and images. And, yeah, you need to take that seriously, but you should also read and draw because really good books and cartoons give you a boner.”I was shocked:”Did you just say books should give me a boner?””Yes, I did.””Are you serious?””Yeah… don’t you get excited about books?””I don’t think that you’re supposed to get THAT excited about books.””You should get a boner! You have to get a boner!” Gordy shouted. “Come on!”We ran into the Reardan High School Library.”Look at all these books,” he said.”There aren’t that many,” I said. It was a small library in a small high school in a small town.”There are three thousand four hundred and twelve books here,” Gordy said. “I know that because I counted them.””Okay, now you’re officially a freak,” I said.”Yes, it’s a small library. It’s a tiny one. But if you read one of these books a day, it would still take you almost ten years to finish.””What’s your point?””The world, even the smallest parts of it, is filled with things you don’t know.”Wow. That was a huge idea.Any town, even one as small as Reardan, was a place of mystery. And that meant Wellpinit, the smaller, Indian town, was also a place of mystery.”Okay, so it’s like each of these books is a mystery. Every book is a mystery. And if you read all of the books ever written, it’s like you’ve read one giant mystery. And no matter how much you learn, you keep on learning so much more you need to learn.””Yes, yes, yes, yes,” Gordy said. “Now doesn’t that give you a boner?””I am rock hard,” I said.”

“Have you thought of an ending?””Yes, several, and all are dark and unpleasant.””Oh, that won’t do! Books ought to have good endings. How would this do: and they all settled down and lived together happily ever after?””It will do well, if it ever came to that.””Ah! And where will they live? That’s what I often wonder.”

“Beware you be not swallowed up in books! An ounce of love is worth a pound of knowledge.”

“I write to find strength.I write to become the person that hides inside me.I write to light the way through the darkness for others.I write to be seen and heard.I write to be near those I love.I write by accident, promptings, purposefully and anywhere there is paper. I write because my heart speaks a different language that someone needs to hear.I write past the embarrassment of exposure.I write because hypocrisy doesn’t need answers, rather it needs questions to heal. I write myself out of nightmares.I write because I am nostalgic, romantic and demand happy endings.I write to remember.I write knowing conversations don’t always take place.I write because speaking can’t be reread.I write to sooth a mind that races.I write because you can play on the page like a child left alone in the sand.I write because my emotions belong to the moon; high tide, low tide.I write knowing I will fall on my words, but no one will say it was for very long.I write because I want to paint the world the way I see love should be.I write to provide a legacy.I write to make sense out of senselessness.I write knowing I will be killed by my own words, stabbed by critics, crucified by both misunderstanding and understanding. I write for the haters, the lovers, the lonely, the brokenhearted and the dreamers.I write because one day someone will tell me that my emotions were not a waste of time. I write because God loves stories.I write because one day I will be gone, but what I believed and felt will live on.”

“The true birthplace is that wherein for the first time one looks intelligently upon oneself; my first homelands have been books, and to a lesser degree schools.”

“What an author doesn’t know could fill a book.”

“….a good book can teach you about the world and about yourself. You learn more than how to read better; you also learn more about life. You become wiser. Not just more knowledgeable – books that provide nothing but information can produce that result. But wiser, in the sense that you are more deeply aware of the great and enduring truths of human life.”

“Properly, we should read for power. Man reading should be man intensely alive. The book should be a ball of light in one’s hand.”

“A story is alive, as you and I are. It is rounded by muscle and sinew. Rushed with blood. Layered with skin, both rough and smooth. At its core lies soft marrow of hard, white bone. A story beats with the heart of every person who has ever strained ears to listen. On the breath of the storyteller, it soars. Until its images and deeds become so real you can see them in the air, shimmering like oases on the horizon line. A story can fly like a bee, so straight and swift you catch only the hum of its passing. Or move so slowly it seems motionless, curled in upon itself like a snake in the sun. It can vanish like smoke before the wind. Linger like perfume in the nose. Change with every telling, yet always remain the same.”

“Writers are really people who write books not because they are poor, but because they are dissatisfied with the books which they could buy but do not like.”