“But there was one other thing that the grown-ups also knew, and it was this: that however small the chance might be of striking lucky, the chance is there. The chance had to be there.”

I’m right and you’re wrong, I’m big and you’re small, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Kindness – that simple word. To be kind – it covers everything, to my mind. If you’re kind that’s it.

Rainbow drops – suck them and you can spit in six different colours.

We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.

I am only 8 years old, I told myself. No little boy of 8 has ever murdered anyone. It’s not possible.

When you’re writing, it’s rather like going on a very long walk.

The writer walks out of his workroom in a daze. He wants a drink. He needs it.

I am suspicious of both facility and speed.

We make realities out of our dreams and dreams out of our realities. We are the dreamers of the dream.

If the Good Lord intended for us to walk, he wouldn’t have invented rollar skates.

An autobiography is a book a person writes about his own life and it is usually full of all sorts of boring details.

Me is the only one what won’t be gobbled up because giants is never eating giants.

Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.

Pain was something we were expected to endure. But I doubt very much if you would be entirely happy today if a doctor threw a towel in your face and jumped on you with a knife.

A writer of fiction lives in fear. Each new day demands new ideas and he can never be sure whether he is going to come up with them or not.

I’m wondering what to read next.