She laughed when there was no joke. She danced when there was no music. She had no friends, yet she was the friendliest person in school.

Angels and crows passed each other, one leaving, the other coming.

He was the Grand Marshall of our Everyday Parade

Nobody has the time, the time cannot be owned. The time is free to everyone

She laughed when there was no joke. She danced when there was no music. She had no friends, yet she was the friendliest person in school.

It was the day of the worms. That first almost-warm, after-the-rainy-night day in April, when you bolt from your house to find yourself in a world of worms. They were as numerous here in the East End as they had been in the West. The sidewalks, the streets. The very places where they didn't belong. Forlorn, marooned on concrete and asphalt, no place to burrow, April's orphans.

Kids still can be said to live in their own little world. Even if their parents are helicoptering around them, assigning play dates and so forth, I think they're still living in some sense of their own little perceptual worlds.