On the subject of love at first sight, I’m with the Beatles: I believe that it happens all the time.

The soil of a man’s heart is stonier; a man grows what he can and tends it.

It was how wars really ended, Dieffenbaker supposed -- not at truce tables but in cancer wards and office cafeterias and traffic jams. Wars died one tiny piece at a time, each piece something that fell like a memory, each lost like an echo that fades in winding hills. In the end even war ran up the white flag. Or so he hoped. He hoped that in the end even war surrendered.

Black as night and as beautiful as forever.

Kids, fiction is the truth inside the lie, and the truth of this fiction is simple enough: the magic exists.

Love among the ruins... I'll tell you something, my friend: Weird love's better than no love at all.

They walked back into the world together, wearing the gift that had been given them: just life. Pity was not love, Barbie reflected...but if you were a child, giving clothes to someone who was naked had to be a step in the right direction.