The Truth Is A Fog, In Which

Sometimes Words Need Music Too. Sometimes The Descriptions Are Not Enough. Books Should Be Written With Soundtracks, Like Films.

Granny Bit Her Lip. She Was Never Quite Certain About Children, Thinking Of Them-when She Thought About Them At All-as Coming Somewhere Between Animals And People. She Understood Babies. You Put Milk In One End And Kept The Other As Clean As Possible. Adults Were Even Easier, Because They Did The Feeding And Cleaning Themselves. But In Between Was A World Of Experience That She Had Never Really Inquired About. As Far As She Was Aware, You Just Tried To Stop Them Catching Anything Fatal And Hoped That It Would All Turn Out All Right.

Mere Animals Couldn’t Possibly Manage To Act Like This. You Need To Be A Human Being To Be Really Stupid.

Elves Are Wonderful. They Provoke Wonder. Elves Are Marvellous. They Cause Marvels. Elves Are Fantastic. They Create Fantasies. Elves Are Glamorous. They Project Glamour. Elves Are Enchanting. They Weave Enchantment. Elves Are Terrific. They Beget Terror. The Thing About Words Is That Meanings Can Twist Just Like A Snake, And If You Want To Find Snakes Look For Them Behind Words That Have Changed Their Meaning. No One Ever Said Elves Are Nice. Elves Are Bad.

Last Hopeless Chances Have Got To Work. Nothing Makes Sense Otherwise. You Might As Well Not Be Alive.