What need, Dunstan wondered, could someone have of the storm-filled eggshells?

The Marquis sighed. "I thought it was just a legend," he said. "Like the alligators in the sewers of New York City." Old Bailey nodded, sagely: "What, the big white buggers? They're down there. I had a friend lost a head to one of them." A moment of silence. Old Naeiley handed the statue back to the Marquis. Then he raised his hand, and snapped it, like a crocodile hand, at the Carabas. "It was OK," gurned Old Bailey with a grin that was most terrible to behold. "He had another.

Give me boredom. At least I know where I'm going to eat and sleep tonight.

He stared up at the stars, and it seemed to him then that they were dancers, stately and graceful, performing a dance almost infinite in its complexity. He imagined he could see the very faces of the stars; pale, they were, and smiling gently, as if they had spent so much time above the world, watching the scrambling and the joy and the pain of the people below them, that they could not help being amused every time another little human believed itself the center of its world, as each of us does.

The simplest way to make sure that we raise literate children is to teach them to read, and to show them that reading is a pleasurable activity.

And sometimes when you fall... you fly...

I'm bored," she said. "Learn how to tap-dance," he suggested, without turning around.