Whom do I write for? I write for the story. Each story, it seems to me, knows best how it should be told. As I once put my ear to the railroad track, I listen now for the voice of… — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
“He still heard his mother's voice--"Davey"--rise like whisper-dust from unseen corners in the house, but it was no longer the only voice he heard.… — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
Nobody has the time, the time cannot be owned. The time is free to everyone — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
You’ll know her more by your questions than by her answers. Keep looking at her long enough. One day you might see someone you… — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
“When you're inside your own story, you don't see things like a reader. You don't see your life in tidy paragraphs and chapters.” — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
Nobody knows who said it first, but somebody must have: 'Kid's gotta be a maniac. — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
“But feelings, they don't care about telling. They just go right on, piling on top of one another like a big sandwich.” — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
“chewed time like a wad of bubble gum and stretched it across the darkness all the way to dawn, when the light at the… — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
“When the sun is a bike ride away, I will hear it. It will sound like wind in treetops. I will awaken.” — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
“I had to get out. Move. I ran through neighborhoods, other lives, other worlds. Solipsism. A man on his lawn mower. Green and yellow.… — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
He tapped my chest. 'Happy is here.' He tapped his own chest. 'Here.' I looked down past my chin. 'Inside?' 'Inside.' It was getting… — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
She was elusive. She was today. She was tomorrow. She was the faintest scent of a cactus flower, the flitting shadow of an elf… — Jerry Spinelli Copy Share Image
