Thou Shalt Not Is Soon Forgotten, But

I Seemed To Have Spent The Whole Time Either Reading, Which I Loved, Or Laughing, Which I Love, Or Fooling About, Which I Loved. There Was The Usual Teenage Angst: "nobody Understands Me" And "i'm The Only Genius In The World" And All That Stuff. But That Didn't Get Very Deep.

She Longed For Cutlasses, Pistols, And Brandy; She Had To Make Do With Coffee, And Pencils, And Verbs.

What I Do Say Is That I Can Write Verse, And That The Writing Of Verse In Strict Form Is The Best Possible Training For Writing Good Prose

Iorek Byrnison: Can Is Not The Same As Must. Lyra Silvertongue: But If You Must And You Can, Then There's No Excuse.

She Wondered Whether There Would Ever Come An Hour In Her Life When She Didn't Think Of Him -- Didn't Speak To Him In Her Head, Didn't Relive Every Moment They'd Been Together, Didn't Long For His Voice And His Hands And His Love. She Had Never Dreamed Of What It Would Feel Like To Love Someone So Much; Of All The Things That Had Astonished Her In Her Adventures, That Was What Astonished Her The Most. She Thought The Tenderness It Left In Her Heart Was Like A Bruise That Would Never Go Away, But She Would Cherish It Forever.