“I walked into my own book, seeking peace.It was night, and I made a careless movement inside the dream; I turned too brusquely the corner and I bruised myself against my madness.”

“I suddenly saw that all the time it was not I who had been seeking God, but God who had been seeking me. I had made myself the centre of my own existence and had my back turned to God.”

“I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I'm beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn't pleasant, it's not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.”

“Interpreting myself, I always readMyself into my books. I clearly needSome help. But all who climb on their own wayCarry my image, too, into the breaking day.”

“The same rain the ghost is dancing in falls on me as I watch her carefree movements. I lift my own face toward the sky, and the cool rain mingles with the tears I am powerless to hold back. I close my eyes and let the rain wash the tears from my face as I breathe deeply, the scent of the summer rain like aromatherapy for my bruised and broken heart.I should call the ghost back, I think. I should get going; Aunt Edie is expecting me. But I don't move; I stand still, let the raindrops mingle with my tears, and allow myself to let go, to weep deeply, to feel the anguish I've held in so tightly for too long, the grief to which I've been afraid to surrender. I grieve for the deaths of Mom and Dad, for the pain of not having them in my life, the worry I feel at having had them so briefly. I grieve for the death of my dreams, the breakdown of my marriage, the emptiness I feel inside, the mantle of responsibility to heavy on my shoulders. I grieve for my children, the mistakes I've made, and the mistakes I see them making. I grieve for the loss of my birth mother. And I grieve for myself.”

“Six books… my mother didn’t want books falling into my hands. It never occurred to her that I fell into the books – that I put myself inside them for safe keeping.”