The Strange Library

Why do I act like this, agreeing when I really disagree, letting people force me to do things I don't want to do?

I’m not very good at giving anyone a clear no.

The tricky thing about mazes is that you don't know if you've chosen the right path until the very end. If it turns out you were wrong, it's usually too late to go back and start again. That's the problem with mazes.

At the same time, my anxiety had turned into an anxiety quite lacking in anxiousness. And any anxiety that is not especially anxious is, in the end, an anxiety hardly worth mentioning.

No matter what the situation may be, I still take pleasure in witnessing the joy of others.

Ever since I was little my mother had told me, if you don’t know something, go to the library and look it up.

The world follows its own course. Each possesses his own thoughts, each treads his own path. So it is with your mother, and so it is with your starling. As it is with everyone. The world follows its own course.

So just because I don’t exist in the sheep man’s world, it doesn’t mean that I don’t exist at all.

Our worlds are all jumbled together--your world, my world, the sheepman's world. Sometimes they overlap and sometimes they don't.

She didn't answer. Instead, she smiled sweetly. It was a smile so radiant that the air seemed to thin around it.

Like a blind dolphin, the night of the new moon silently drew near.

I lie here by myself in the dark at two o'clock in the morning and think about that cell in the library. About how it feels to be alone, and the depth of the darkness surrounding me. Darkness as pitch black as the night of the new moon.

Enough of your prattle," the old man said. "I cannot abide people who conjure up a raft of excuses, disparaging the efforts of those who have gone out of their way to help them. Such people are common trash.

And any anxiety that is to not especially anxious is in the end, an anxiety hardly worth mentioning.

I turned to run, but I didn't actually take a step, even though I wanted to. That wasn't the way I was raised. My mother taught me that if you knock on a door, you have to wait there until someone answers.

Because brains packed with knowledge are yummy, that’s why. They’re nice and creamy. And sort of grainy at the same time.

I can read the two of you as easily as I can a watermelon patch in broad daylight.

It was a small soft hand. I thought my heart might break in two.

She was so pretty that looking at her made my eyes hurt.

The sheep man has his world. I have mine. And you have yours, too. Am I right? “That you are.” So just because I don’t exist in the sheep man’s world, it doesn’t mean that I don’t exist at all. “I get it,” I said. “Our worlds are all jumbled together—your world, my world, the sheep man’s world. Sometimes they overlap and sometimes they don’t. That’s what you mean, right?

Every time I get new shoes, it takes me a while to get used to their noise.

Mr. Sheep Man," I asked. "Why would that old man want to eat my brains?" "Because brains packed with knowledge are yummy, that's why. They are nice and creamy. And sort of grainy at the same time".

The library was even more hushed than usual. Darkness as pitch black as the night of the new moon.

I cannot abide people who conjure up a raft of excuses, disparaging the efforts of those who have gone out of their way to help them. Such people are common trash.

The tricky thing about mazes is that you don’t know if you’ve chosen the right path until the very end.

My mother taught me that if you knock on a door, you have to wait there until someone answers.