When You Open A Book It's Like

No Prince Had Lived In Those Wretched Hovels, No Red-robed Bishops, Only Farmers And Laborers Whose Stories No One Had Written Down, And Now They Were Lost, Buried Under Wild Thyme And Fast Growing Spurge.

My Dear Elinor, You Were Obviously Born Into The Wrong Story,” Said Dustfinger At Last.

I Like A Composer Called Henry Purcell, And I Love To Listen To Neil Young.

Because Fear Kills Everything," Mo Had Once Told Her. "your Mind, Your Heart, Your Imagination.

The Book She Had Been Reading Was Under Her Pillow, Pressing Its Cover Against Her Ear As If To Lure Her Back Into Its Printed Pages.