We Forget That The Simple Gesture Of

We [me And Alison Mcghee] Probably Wouldn't Have Said That When We Were Writing The Stories, But It Is So Apparent To Me In The Finished Product. For Me, Looking At Bink, It's Like Looking At Myself On The Page In A Way That I've Never Experienced With Any Other Book That I've Written.

Love Is Ridiculous. But Love Is Also Wonderful. And Powerful. And Despereaux's Love For The Princess Pea Would Prove, In Time, To Be All Of These Things: Powerful, Wonderful, And Ridiculous.

Nobody Ever Learns Anything.

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.

May God Strike Me Down With A Hammer On The Head Before I Write A Book With A Teach-y Goal!