You have to know where you were going in order to get there.

And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest "He died.

No. We breathe. We pulse. We regenerate. Our hearts beat. Our minds create. Our souls ingest. 37 seconds, well used, is a lifetime.

When King Lear dies in act five, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He has written, 'He dies.' No more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential piece of dramatic literature is, 'He dies.' Now I am not asking you to be happy at my leaving but all I ask you to do is to turn the page and let the next story begin. -- Mr. Magorium

If these were indications of new love, as Sergei expected they were, then he was not surprised. All that scraping and arguing, the teasing and playful antagonism, could only mean on thing. It was a sure sign of attraction.

Your life is an occasion. Rise to it.

Birds fascinated her. How did they do that, seeming to fly with one mind, each of them able to anticipate what the others would do?