All Stories Are True.

I Have An Apple That Thinks Its A Pear. And A Bun That Thinks It’s A Cat. And A Lettuce That Thinks Its A Lettuce." "it’s A Clever Lettuce, Then." "hardly," She Said With A Delicate Snort. "why Would Anything Clever Think It’s A Lettuce?" "even If It Is A Lettuce?" I Asked. "especially Then," She Said. "bad Enough To Be A Lettuce. How Awful To Think You Are A Lettuce Too.

The Air Was Heavy With The Smell Of Leather And Dust, Of Old Parchment And Binding Glue. It Smelled Of Secrets.

I Smiled,"deoch, My Heart Is Made Of Stronger Stuff Than Glass. When She Strikes She'll Find It Strong As Iron-bound Brass, Or Gold And Adamant Together Mixed. Don't Think I Am Unaware, Some Startled Deer To Stand Transfixed By Hunter's Horns. It's She Who Should Take Care, For When She Strikes, My Heart Will Make A Sound So Beautiful And Bright That It Can't Help But Bring Her Back To Me In Winged Light.

It's Hard To Be Wrongfully Accused, But It's Worse When The People Looking Down On You Are Clods Who Have Never Read A Book Or Traveled More Than Twenty Miles From The Place They Were Born.

Why Would I Want To Win Anything Other Than A Beautiful Game?