“Ireland has never been more beautiful – the perfect setting for this story filled with humor, hope and possibility.”

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.

You never know when some small thing will lead to a big idea.