She Has The Gift Of Accepting Her

I Dream Of Writing A Book Like Lovers Some Day. It Is So Spare But So Rich. It Is History Made Intimate, And A Masterpiece Of Compression.

Try To Remember It Always," He Said Once Gogol Had Reached Him, Leading Him Slowly Back Across The Breakwater, To Where His Mother And Sonia Stood Waiting. "remember That You And I Made This Journey Together To A Place Where There Was Nowhere Left To Go.

My Grandfather Says That's What Books Are For," Ashoke Said, Using The Opportunity To Open The Volume In His Hands. "to Travel Without Moving An Inch.

And Yet She Could Not Forgive Herself. Even As An Adult, She Wished Only That She Could Go Back And Change Things: The Ungainly Things She’d Worn, The Insecurity She’d Felt, All The Innocent Mistakes She Made.

If I Stop To Think About Fans, Or Best-selling, Or Not Best-selling, Or Good Reviews, Or Not-good Reviews, It Just Becomes Too Much. It's Like Staring At The Mirror All Day.