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Kindle Notes & Highlights
It is often the case that, at times of great anxiety, when the diversion of a good story should seem most welcome, one is least equipped to focus one’s mind on reading.
The first words of a new book are so delicious—like the first taste of a cookie fresh from the oven and not yet properly cooled.
William, Edmund, and Anna knew, somewhere deep in the place where we know things that we cannot say aloud, that they had never lived in the sort of home one reads about in stories—one of warmth and affection and certainty in the knowledge that someone believes you hung the moon.
She abided no nonsense unless nonsense was precisely what was required.
William wanted escape, not enlightenment,
Mrs. Griffith hadn’t been unkind…but that, as you no doubt know, is a very different state of affairs than kindness.
The children saw the librarian rearranging the picture she had made of them in her mind.
“I believe it was the poet, Mr. Yeats, who said that the world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper?”
Anna might not have known what to say, but she knew what to do. Which is often the more important thing, as it turns out.
