“The good things that happen to us were meant to happen, and the bad things that happen are lessons meant to teach us to be better.”

People have often told me that one of their strongest childhood memories is the scent of their grandmother’s house.

I loved to read, still do, and it seemed that the writing was a result of the love of books and reading and libraries.

Maybe a first love exists to remind you to be brave in the moment, to stand up for your feelings, instead of shrinking back in the face of potential loneliness.

Sometimes there aren’t reasons behind the terrible things that go on.

I can only get up and do my chores and push through the day and find the good in it.

You have work anytime. But love? Not always.

A good mother is irreplaceable.

The only urgent thing in life is the pursuit of love. You get that one right, and you’ve solved the mystery.

This is where men and women are different, we can put aside petty competition for relationships – they can’t. It interferes.

A library is a home filled with our stories.

There is no one on earth who knew you from the day you were born; who knew why you cried, or when you’d had enough food; who knew exactly what to say when you were hurting.

Two different things. Work is survival, and love sustains you.

I am still emotional when I look at those boxes checked yes.

But when the morning comes, I realize that there’s nothing to be done about what has already happened.

I wish I was the kind who made up stories.

You can’t always think about what you’ve lost, or what you don’t have, or what you didn’t get. Because when you do that, you’re missing out on the now.

It’s never too late to be who you were meant to be.

I have never gone to a doctor in my adult life, feeling instinctively that doctors meant either cutting or, just as bad, diet.

I am not meant to be alone and without you who understands.

I could easily have decided that life was cruel, that being black meant everything was stacked against me.

The writer probably knows what he meant when he wrote a book, but he should immediately forget what he meant when he’s written it.

I’m happy to say she was laughing while she said it, but she meant it. I’ve never learned to be a candle burning in an empty room. So I go on the screen, and I say whatever I’m told to say.

This, I thought, is what is meant by ‘thy will be done’ in the Lord’s Prayer, which I had prayed time and again without thinking about it.

I had come to a place where I was meant to be. I don’t mean anything so prosaic as a sense of coming home. This was different, very different. It was like arriving at a place much safer than home.