“When I look at my room, I see a girl who loves books.”

“I just wanted one person who would look at me and not want to see someone else.”“Who looks at you like that?” I lift my head up and lower my hands so I can see her face, and I can’t imagine anyone looking at this girl and wanting to see anything but her.“Everyone who loves me.”“Who is it they want to see?“A dead girl.”

“Is this how you see me – as your government teacher? Because if I saw you as a student I wouldn’t be here right now. When I look at you I see the girl I want to be with. Have since the first day you walked into my room.”

“You're the only girl that I want to be with. The only girl I look forward to seeing walk into a room. When I'm not with you, all I can think about is getting back to you. When you touch me, it's like fire running through my veins."-loc 1725”

“My daughter is seven, and some of the other second-grade parents complain that their children don't read for pleasure. When I visit their homes, the children's rooms are crammed with expensive books, but the parent's rooms are empty. Those children do not see their parents reading, as I did every day of my childhood. By contrast, when I walk into an apartment with books on the shelves, books on the bedside tables, books on the floor, and books on the toilet tank, then I know what I would see if I opened the door that says 'PRIVATE--GROWNUPS KEEP OUT': a child sprawled on the bed, reading.”

“I looked around at the rooms that I did not see as rooms but more as a landscape for my emotions, a biography of memory.”