“It felt good to be surrounded by books, by all this solid knowledge, by these objects that could be ripped page by page but couldn't be torn if the pages all held together.”

“You're ruining that book!" He pointed to the page I'd torn out. "That's a perfectly good book!" Holding his gaze, I reached down and ripped another page out. "I'm making roses." "Well, it's my book." "Sorry." I tore out another.”

“Pages and pages and pages with words all over the pages. My goodness, what fun. What fun to write whatever words occur.”

“I could have ripped at those pages with my fingernails in order to get all of the material inside me.”

“A person is never as quiet or unrestrained as they seem, or as bad or good, as vulnerable or as strong, as sweet or as feisty; we are thickly layered, page lying upon page, behind simple covers. And love - it is not the book itself, but the binding. It can rip us apart or hold us together...Layers, by their nature, are fragile things.”

“Tomorrow, is the first blank page of a 365 page book. Write a good one.”