The Invisible Hour

by Alice Hoffman

They thought I only had a life that I lived here, but I had found other possibilities every time I read a book.

Sometimes when you read a book it’s as if you were reading the story of your own life.

In a place where books were banned there could be no personal freedom, no hope, and no dreams for the future.

Turn someone into a reader and you turn the world around.

The past was with her, tied to her feet with black thread.

“When you love someone, look what happens,” she said. “What happens?” Mia asked, hoping Constance wouldn’t notice that she was crying. “This.” Constance gestured to all that was around them with a look of delight on her face. There was the river and the wisteria blooming in the falling dark. There was Sarah returning from the kitchen with a pitcher of water and three green glass tumblers. There were the birdhouses in the field, and the stone path they had put in one summer. There was all they had been to each other through the years. “You have a life,” Constance said.

“Real life is unbelievable. Souls are snatched away from us, flesh and blood turn to dust, people you love betray you, men go to war over nothing. It’s all preposterous. That’s why we have novels. To make sense of things.”

It was then that Nathaniel truly began to appreciate the years he had spent alone in his room, the distance from other people that had given him the ability to observe and to feel what another might had also made him a writer.

In his opinion, a woman who loved books was the best sort. He had faith in women’s views of the world and their ability to feel compassion when men so often seemed aware only of their own needs. He truly wished that for the next thousand years all government could be in the hands of women, for men had made such a mess of the world, including his own ancestors, men who’d risen to power and fought to keep it, no matter who they might hurt or destroy.

Words were magic. That was all he knew. Words were all they had.

once a girl walked into a library she could never be controlled again.

She and Ivy should have made a vow to walk into the future; they should had left the past behind. If you hold on to it, it will only haunt you, it will wrap its arms around you and pull you down.

Evil was predictable; it cloaked itself in righteousness, convinced its enemies must be punished.

He felt much the same today as he had then, for he was part of the world and still he remained separate from it. That was what it meant to be a writer.

Luck can be many things, and she carried her luck with her, she carried it in a book.

Sometimes walking away is the bravest thing you can do. When you get there, you’ll know where you are.