“I don't remember when exactly I read my first comic book, but I do remember exactly how liberated and subversive I felt as a result.”

“I had a dream this morning too, and you were in it," he said. "I don't remember what it was about, exactly, but when I woke up I looked at the clock and it was exactly six thirty-two."I felt an eerie tingle all down my back and froze with my spoon halfway to my mouth. "Really?"He smirked and popped the cookie into his mouth. "No”

“Few of us make any serious effort to remember what we read. When I read a book, what do I hope will stay with me a year later? If it’s a work of nonfiction, the thesis, maybe, if the book has one. A few savory details, perhaps. If it’s fiction, the broadest outline of the plot, something about the main characters (at least their names), and an overall critical judgment about the book. Even these are likely to fade. Looking up at my shelves, at the books that have drained so many of my waking hours, is always a dispiriting experience. One Hundred Years of Solitude: I remember magical realism and that I enjoyed it. But that’s about it. I don’t even recall when I read it. About Wuthering Heights I remember exactly two things: that I read it in a high school English class and that there was a character named Heathcliff. I couldn’t say whether I liked the book or not.”

“My short stories are like soft shadows I have set out in the world, faint footprints I have left. I remember exactly where I set down each and every one of them, and how I felt when I did. Short stories are like guideposts to my heart...”

“When I'm at school in the city, I don't feel particularly worldly or wise. It's only when I come back home that I remember exactly why I left.”

“I don't remember who spoke first, but I do recall the first words between us: "How often we meet among old books!"This was the start of our friendship.”