Children Are Caterpillars And Adults Are Butterflies.

Writing Stories Is A Kind Of Magic, Too.

Beauty And Fear Make Uneasy Companions

Why Would We Ever Want To Go Back When Your World Is So Accommodating With Your Telephones And Your Guns And What's That Sticky Stuff Called ...duct Tape.

In Love - It Sounded Like A Sickness Without Any Cure, And Wasn't That Just How It Sometimes Felt?

The World Was A Terrible Place, Cruel, Pitiless, Dark As A Bad Dream. Not A Good Place To Live. Only In Books Could You Find Pity, Comfort, Happiness - And Love. Books Loved Anyone Who Opened Them, They Gave You Security And Friendship And Didn't Ask Anything In Return; They Never Went Away, Never, Not Even When You Treated Them Badly.