I don't think he's touched a washcloth to his face since the day he was born. - Patricia Reilly Giff

But what gave him the most satisfaction was going back through the pages to read about his first story appearing in the Saturday Evening Post. That afternoon he'd bought Bird the largest bag of lemon drops he could find. "He gives her candy," she had said, remembering too.

If only she could have held on to that day, held on to that moment forever, grasped it in her fists so it wouldn't escape. If only.

What was the use of writing if someone didn't read what you have to say?