Why does anybody tell a story? It does indeed have something to do with faith. Faith that the universe has meaning, that our little human lives are not irrelevant, that what we choose or say or do matters, matters cosmically.

Qui plussait, plus se tait. French, you know. The more a man knows, the less he talks.

If I didn't get fond I could be happy all the time.

God understands. And God understands that part of us which is more than we think we are.

Just write a little bit every day. Even if it's for only half an hour — write, write, write.

I don't know if they're really like everybody else, or if they're able to pretend they are.

Itt iss Eevill…" "What is going to happen?" "Wee wwill cconnttinnue tto ffightt!"… "And we’re not alone, you know, children," came Mrs.Whatsit, the comforter. "…some of the best fighters have come from your own planet…" "Who have our fighters been?" Calvin asked. "Oh, you must know them, dear," Mrs.Whatsit said. Mrs.Who’s spectacles shone out at them triumphantly. "And the light shineth in the darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.