And the last thought he had that morning as he closed his eyes was: I hope the tornado hit the moose.
If books could have more, give more, be more, show more, they would still need readers who bring to them sound and smell and light and all the rest that can’t be in books. The book needs you.
I owe everything I am and everything I will ever be to books.
I wish I had a dollar for every hour I’ve spent in the library,” he always says. I have to agree- we’d probably never have to worry about money again.
Patience, he thought. So much of this was patience – waiting, and thinking and doing things right. So much of all this, so much of all living was patience and thinking.
The book is that is the good one is Woodsong and we are trying to finish it.
…this beginning motion, this first time when a sail truly filled and the boat took life and knifed across the lake under perfect control, this was so beautiful it stopped my breath…
I think that what computers have done is just disastrous to the language.
I have a pickup truck. And I prefer to be with dogs or on my sailboat than in a car – actually, more than any other place on Earth.
Adults are locked into car payments and divorces and work. They haven’t got time to think fresh.
I sail, run dogs, ride horses, play professional poker and tell stories about the stuff I’ve been through. And I’m still a romantic; I still want Bambi to make it out of the fire.