It's hard being left behind...It's hard to be the one who stays...Why is love intensified by absence?
I've noticed that Henry needs an incredible amount of physical activity all the time in order to be happy. It's like hanging out with a greyhound.
I want my own bed, in my own apartment. Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home.
Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home. Clare sighs, turns her head, and is quiet. Hi, honey. I'm home. I...
Henry loves my hair almost as though it is a creature unto itself, as though it has a soul to call its own, as though it could love him back.
He didn't take care of you; you had to take care of yourself.
But now, I know, how absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird.
[Who are the artists you admire, Surrealist or otherwise?]Remedios Varo, Max Ernst, Charlotte Salomon, Goya, Aubrey Beardsley. Beardsley is not so much about the impossible as he is about freaks and d...
Sometimes I'm happy when he's gone, but I'm always happy when he returns. -Clare
Love the world and yourself in it, move through it as though it offers no resistance, as though the world is your natural element.
It’s dark now and I am very tired. I love you, always. Time is nothing.
I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going. - Henry deTamble
I don't know about you, but I'm kind of fed up with realism. After all, there's enough reality already; why make more of it? Why not leave realism for the memoirs of drug addicts, the histories of sal...
I am suddenly comsumed by nostalgia for the little girl who was me, who loved the fields and believed in God, who spent winter days home sick from school reading Nancy Drew and sucking menthol cough d...
He saw things he had no words for.
Clare seems so pleased with the idea of me as a pirate that she forgets that I am Stranger Danger.
You can still be cool when you’re dead. In fact, it’s much easier, because you aren’t getting old and fat and losing your hair.
When I began writing The Night Bookmobile, it was a story about a woman's secret life as a reader. As I worked it also became a story about the claims that books place on their readers, the imbalance...
We're squirrels in human form, she whispered. And so are you.
We laugh and laugh, and nothing can ever be sad, no one can be lost, or dead, or far away: right now we are here, and nothing can mar our perfection, or steal the joy of this perfect moment.