Time is, as you are probably aware, merely a convenient fiction. There is no such thing as time.

everything has an end, and you get to it if you only keep on.

One of the uses of poetry - one says it to oneself in distressing circumstances, ... or when one has to wait at railway stations, or when one cannot get to sleep at night.

There is a curtain, thin as gossamer, clear as glass, strong as iron, that hangs forever between the world of magic and the world that seems to us to be real.

Then suddenly Jack was a changed boy. Something wonderful had happened to him, and it had made him different. It sometimes happened to people that they see or hear something quite wonderful and then they are never altogether the same again.

There is no bond like the bond of having read and liked the same books.

Time and space are only forms of thought.