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Reading Should Not Be Presented To Children As A Chore Or Duty. It Should Be Offered To Them As A Precious Gift.

There Are Hearts, Reader, That Never Mend Again Once They Are Broken. Or If They Do Mend, They Heal Themselves In A Crooked And Lopsided Way, As If Sewn Together By A Careless Craftsman.

Like Most Hearts, It Was Complicated, Shaded With Dark And Dappled With Light.

There Is No Right Or Wrong Way To Tell A Story. You Have To Find Your Own Way. You Can Get Your Idea From Listening, Looking, Or Imagining. Stories Are Everywhere. All You Have To Do Is Pay Attention.

During The Night, While Bull And Lucy Slept, Edward, With Ever-open Eyes, Stared Up At The Constellations. He Said Their Names, And Then He Said The Names Of The People Who Loved Him. He Started With Abilene, And Then Went On To Nellie And Lawrence And From There To Bull And Lucy, And Then He Ended Again With Abilene: Abilene, Nellie, Lawrence, Bull, Lucy, Abilene. See? Edward Told Pellegrina. I Am Not Like The Princess. I Know About Love.