You look like a ghost," Bailey says. He can think of no better way to describe it. "You appear the same way to me, so which of us is real?

You're in the right place at the right time, and you care enough to do what needs to be done. Sometimes that's enough.

I suppose there will never be a lack of things to say, of stories to be told and shared.

Old stories have a habit of being told and retold and changed. Each subsequent storyteller puts his or her mark upon it. Whatever truth the story once had is buried in bias and embellishment. The reasons do not matter as much as the story itself.

The circus itself is my personal ideal entertainment venue.

If she were gone I would be nothing. You should think better of yourself than to settle for that.

The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. Within the black-and-white striped canvas tents is an utterly unique experience full of breathtaking amazements. It is called Le Cirque des Rêves, and it is only open at night.