I don’t have many friends, not the living, breathing
sort at any rate. And I don’t mean that in a sad and lonely
way; I’m just not the type of person who accumulates friends or
enjoys crowds. I’m good with words, but not spoken kind; I’ve
often thought what a marvelous thing it would be if I could only
conduct relationships on paper. And I suppose, in a sense,
that’s what I do, for I’ve hundreds of the other sort, the
friends contained within bindings, pages after glorious pages of
ink, stories that unfold the same way every time but never lose
their joy, that take me by the hand and lead me through doorways
into worlds of great terror and rapturous delight. Exciting,
worthy, reliable companions - full of wise counsel, some of them
- but sadly ill-equipped to offer the use of a spare bedroom for
a month or two.~Kate Morton, The Distant Hours
