Quotes About Author

He also began writing his own column. He called it "In the Lion's Den" and wrote it in the voice of an opinionated English-speaking mountain lion.

Compared to the mute towers around it, the library seemed more a proclamation than a building.

The department," she said in a choked voice, "the department got a letter from Mo Willems! Mo Willems! Can you believe it? Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! is one of my favorite books. Oh, I think I'm going to cry.

One of the guards told me that his position at the library feels more like that of a psychologist or a priest than a security guard.

a novel that was romantic but not corny;

Janet showed her teeth. "Time to get real, Sarah. No more human sacrifices, got it?

What about that old coot?" Janet looked suspicious. Mr. Jeffreys was from the world of officialdom she despised.

There are politics in sexual relationships because they occur in the context of a society that assigns power based on gender and other systems of inequality and privilege.

Victims suggest innocence. And innocence, by the inexorable logic that governs all relational terms, suggests guilt.

The broken spine of the book shows the webbing of binder's string, and my fingers have worn white spots in the cover.

The most damaging mistakes a writer can make are probably misspelling or misusing words

among, between: Think division. If only two people are dividing something, use between; if more than two people are involved, use among. Here's a mnemonic: between for two and among for a group.

Meghan, I got a dog." "Oh Rosie, that's so great." If anyone deserves to have a dog of her own, it's Rosie. "What kind?" "God only knows." "Good breed, I hear.

began to establish their own kingdoms, all over the land that once

shop and I was making notes on some of

Time and I have quarrelled. All hours are midnight now. I had a clock and a watch, but I destroyed them both. I could not bear the way they mocked me.

Unlike myself, she has the accident of style rather than the intention.

The story made me smile and I wondered if it made me smile because I wanted him to like me.

feeling that it was some betrayal of the awful trust I'd inherited from Pauline's promiscuous aunt.

He smiled. 'You think I'm a racist, like all cops.' He didn't seem to mind.

I wondered if, in some way that I did not understand, he was using that knowledge to presume an intimacy between us, as if we shared a secret that was exciting because it was dangerous to both of us.

I reminded myself that Pauline says they have to despise us in order to come near us, in order to overcome their terrible fear of us. She has some very romantic ideas.

What are you doing?" I whispered. Even though I knew. It was as if I had to pretend that I did not know what he was about to do to me.

But there he was last night, standing on the stoop, yelling up at my window to let him inside. I let him in.