in all the world there is not someone who does not believe something.
So long as you write it away regularly nothing can really hurt you.
For plain and fancy worrying, give me a new mother every time.
I shall weave a suit of leaves. At once. With acorns for buttons.
I am like a small creature swallowed whole by a monster, she thought, and the monster feels my tiny little movements inside.
It is only with the eyes open that a corporeal form returns, and assembles itself firmly around the hard core of sight.