Nobody Ever Learns Anything.

You Can Always Trust A Dog That Likes Peanut Butter.

It Distresses Me That Parents Insist That Their Children Read Or Make Them Read. I Think The Best Way For Children To Treasure Reading Is For Them To See The Adults In Their Lives Reading For Their Own Pleasure.

Seasons Passed, Fall And Winter And Spring And Summer. Leaves Blew In Through The Open Door Of Lucius Clarke’s Shop, And Rain, And The Green Outrageous Hopeful Light Of Spring. People Came And Went, Grandmothers And Doll Collectors And Little Girls With Their Mothers. Edward Tulane Waited. The Seasons Turned Into Years. Edward Tulane Waited. He Repeated The Old Doll’s Words Over And Over Until They Wore A Smooth Groove Of Hope In His Brain: Someone Will Come; Someone Will Come For You.

It Is Always Just Telling A Story, Regardless Of The Age Of The Reader. Except, If I'm Writing Something For Kids, I Know There Has To Be Hope. I Don't Necessarily Feel That Responsibility For Adults, But I Emphatically Feel It For Children. That's The Only Difference. There's No Syntax Difference. There's No Semantics Difference. There's No Thematic Difference.

Like Most Hearts, It Was Complicated, Shaded With Dark And Dappled With Light.