Many [book] even lay flat in the floor open. Their spines upward. Elinor couldn't bear to look! Didn't the monster know that was the way to break a book's neck?

There could be few men whose love for a woman had been written on his face with a knife.

The spoken word is nothing. It hardly lives longer than an insect! Only the written word is eternal. - Balbulus

Perhaps there's another, much larger story behind the printed one, a story that changes just as our own world does. And the letters on the page tell us only as much as we'd see peering through a keyhole. Perhaps the story in the book is just the lid on a pan: It always stays the same, but underneath there's a whole world that goes on - developing and changing like our own world.

Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times?

perhaps because this time not fear but love made him read.

Dustfinger closed his eyes and listened. He was home again.