What's weird is when you mean a lot more to somebody else than they ever meant to you. I mean, a whole lot more. Like life on two whole different planets.

As authors, we all have to learn not to be reactive to public statements about our books. It's really not our business what each reader thinks of them.

A birthday is a very big thing. It should be big from the minute you wake up. It should be such a big thing—all day long—that you fall down into sleep that night all worn out from so much bigness. You get a present with paper on it, you can open that in just a minute. And then, depending on what's inside, a birthday can sort of lose its shine. And then what do you got? No birthday. No big thing. So what I wanted for my sweet little boy was a birthday that would be big and last all day long.
Nobody should be able to mess with that, or make it not safe.

Grownups have a tendency to talk themselves out of things, saying it will never work, but kids are fabulously optimistic.

... even though it was beautiful and comfortable, and even though it was the world, it was also a little bit boring.

No, wait. Maybe boring isn’t the right word. What’s the word I’m wanting here? Lonely. That’s it. It was a little bit lonely.

[Grace talking to Billy.] "It's like people who want to feel only happy but not sad," she said. "It never works. You either feel things or you don't. You don't get to pick and choose. At least, I don't think so.