I learned to dream through reading, learned to create dreams through writing, and learned to develop dreamers through teaching. I shall always be a dreamer.

Teachers must be celebrated for moving civilization from ignorance to enlightenment, from apathy to responsibility.

Words have always swirled around me like snowflakes-each one delicate and different, each one melting untouched in my hands.

By the way, there is nothing cute about a pink wheelchair. Pink doesn't change a thing.

She talked to me like I was just like any other student, not a kid in a wheelchair.

Words. I'm surrounding by thousands of words. Maybe millions...Deep within me, words pile up in huge drifts. Mountains of phrases and sentences and connected ideas. Clever expressions. Jokes. Love songs...I have never spoken one single word. I am almost eleven years old.

What would you do if you could fly?" Mrs. V asks as she glances from the bird to me. "Is that on the quiz?" I ask, grinning as I type. "I think we've studied just about everything else." Mrs. V chuckles. "I'd be scared to let go," I type. "Afraid you'd fall?" she asks. "No. Afraid it would feel so good, I'd just fly away.