Understand, I Had Absolutely No Interest In

Take This Squirrel, For Instance. Ulysses. Do I Believe He Can Type Poetry? Sure, I Do Believe It. There Is Much More Beauty In The World If I Believe Such A Thing Is Possible.

If Memory Serves Me Correctly, And It Doesn't Always, Kate [dicamillo] And I Met In The Fall Of 2001 At The Former Figlio's Restaurant In Minneapolis. We Were Laughing Within A Minute Of Meeting - Always A Good Sign.

Seasons Passed, Fall And Winter And Spring And Summer. Leaves Blew In Through The Open Door Of Lucius Clarke’s Shop, And Rain, And The Green Outrageous Hopeful Light Of Spring. People Came And Went, Grandmothers And Doll Collectors And Little Girls With Their Mothers. Edward Tulane Waited. The Seasons Turned Into Years. Edward Tulane Waited. He Repeated The Old Doll’s Words Over And Over Until They Wore A Smooth Groove Of Hope In His Brain: Someone Will Come; Someone Will Come For You.

This Is A Wonderful Joke To Play Upon A Prisoner, To Promise Forgiveness.

Pea Was Aware Suddenly Of How Fragile Her Heart Was, How Much Darkness Was Inside It, Fighting, Always, With The Light. She Did Not Like The Rat. She Would Neverlike The Rat, But She Knew What She Must Do To Save Her Own Heart.