"Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again."

"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."

     "...who knows? Maybe Clay Grundy will come from nowhere and take a lot of votes.... But Lloyd, and Foster, and McGreer are all getting ready to drop out, I think."
     Not that she watched C-Span - a lot - or, say, checked in on the Washington Post website - often - but that sounded about right.
     Her mother bent to tuck in the blankets, then hugged her, long enough for Meg to feel awkward.
     "You should go rescue Dad from the grumps," Meg said.
     Her mother grinned. "You mean, rescue the grumps from him." She went over to the window, checking to make sure that it was locked, and then closing the curtains.
     "No, don't do that," Meg said. "How will Arthur get in?"
     "I'm sure he'll think of something," her mother said.

From page 52 of my copy

It is my ambition to be, as a private individual, abolished and voided from history, leaving it markless, no refuse save the printed books; I wish I had enough sense to see ahead thirty years ago, and like some of the Elizabethans, not signed them. It is my aim, and every effort bent, that the sum and history of my life, which in the same sentence is my obit and epitaph too, shall be them both: He made the books and he died.