I knew enough about adults to know that if did tell them what had happened, I would not be believed. Adults rarely seemed to believe me when I told the truth anyway.

There are stories within stories, whispered in the quiet of the night, shouted above the roar of the day, and played out between lovers and enemies, strangers and friends. But all are fragile things made of just twenty-six letters arranged and re-arranged to form tales and imaginings which will dazzle your senses, haunt your imagination and move you to the very depths of your soul.

A life that is, like any other, unlike any other.

You have to believe. Otherwise, it will never happen.

She found herself to be quite worried that something would jump out at her, so she began to whistle. She thought it might make it harder for things to jump out at her, if she was whistling.

What are these fundamental principles, if they are not atoms?" "Stories. And they give me hope.

I'm going to go home. Everything is going to be normal again. Boring again. Wonderful again.