So much of reading and writing to me is about being elsewhere, no matter how much I love where I am.
Great work doesn’t make me jealous; it makes me want to work.
Every single one of them with their eyes open and on him, their mouths, too, halfway screaming, halfway begging. Offering themselves to him, because the call was irresistible despite being recognizable. They were moths who know what the light is, know what it will do to them. And come anyway.
Every time I fall in love with a book, I just feel grateful and thrilled to have it in my life.