I went to Gettysburg College, where the famous Civil War battle was fought. I majored in English. I would’ve liked to major in writing, but they didn’t offer a major in that.

As we approached each other, the noise and the students around us melted away and we were utterly alone, passing, smiling, holding each other’s eyes, floors and walls gone, two people in a universe of space and stars.

You haven’t lived until you’ve basked in the adoration of people.

Now I don’t really write for adults or kids – I don’t write for kids, I write about them. I think you need to do that, otherwise you end up preaching down.

I did leave something behind with you: my heart. Of course, you didn’t know it at the time. Maybe I didn’t either. What have you done with my heart, Leo? Have you taken good care of it? Have you misplaced it?

I mean if she’s real, she’s in big trouble. How long do you think somebody who’s really like that is going to last around here?

He was the Grand Marshall of our Everyday Parade.

Like so many of Archie’s words, they seemed not to enter through my ears but to settle on my skin, there to burrow like tiny eggs awaiting the rain of my maturity, when they would hatch and I at last would understand.

I became a children’s author by accident.

History sits on our shoulders, while reading opens our hearts.