It’s like bees and honey. Each bee makes only a tiny, tiny drop of honey. It takes thousands of them, millions perhaps, all working together to make the pot of honey you have on your breakfast table....
I’m very clever,’ said the Doctor. It was a good line, and he was determined to use it as much as possible.
Just go with it. It won't hurt.'I stared at him. Adults only ever said that when it, whatever it happened to be, was going to hurt so much.
Let her tell stories and dance in the rain, somersault, tumble and run, her joys must be high as her sorrows are deep, let her grow like a weed in the sun.
Loki was not evil, although he was certainly not a force for good. Loki was . . . complicated.
Memory is the great deceiver. Perhaps there are some individuals whose memories act like tape recordings, daily records of their lives complete in every detail, but I am not one of them. My memory is...
Metaphors failed him, then. He had gone beyond the world of metaphor and simile into the place of things that , and it was changing him.
Most people do not notice other people.
My hands shook, but the milk did not touch the milk, and the Universe did not end.
Nenhum homem, afirmou Donne, , mas estava errado. Se não fôssemos ilhas, perder-nos-íamos, afogados nas tragédias uns dos outros.
Never trust a demon. He has a hundred motives for anything he does ... Ninety-nine of them, at least, are malevolent.
Nice' in a bodyguard is about as useful as the ability to regurgitate whole lobsters.
Nobody gets through life without losing a few things on the way.
Oh, monsters are scared, said Lettie. That’s why they’re monsters. And as for grown-ups . . . She stopped talking, rubbed her freckled nose with a finger. Then, I’m going to tell you something importa...
P'raps it will be like that and p'raps it won't. And p'raps if it is, it would have been like that anyway. I don't care. I'm still going to wait here for Lettie Hempstock, and she's going to come back...
People can change.
Personally—and this is speaking as a subscriber to Scientific American, here—I feel very sorry for the professionals whenever they find another confusing skull, something that belonged to the wrong so...
She could hear, some way off, her brothers calling to each other in the woods behind the house. She hoped desperately that their game wouldn't bring them any closer, that they wouldn't scare the birds...
She wondered whether cats could all talk where she came from and just chose not to, or whether they could only walk when they were here - wherever here was.
Something told him that something was coming to an end. Not the world, exactly. Just the summer. There would be other summers, but there would never be one like this. Ever again.
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