Only People Unhappy In The Present Seek

Hope, How She Had Grown To Hate The Word. It Was An Insideious Seed Planted Inside A Person's Soul, Surviving Covertly On Little Tending, Then Flowering So Spectacularly That None Could Help But Cherish It.

Cassandra Always Hid When She Read, Though She Never Quite Knew Why. It Was As If She Couldn't Shake The Guilty Suspicion That She Was Being Lazy, That Surrendering Herself So Completely To Something So Enjoyable Must Surely Be Wrong. But Surrender She Did. Let Herself Drop Through The Rabbit Hole And Into A Tale Of Magic And Mystery.

All True Readers Have A Book, A Moment When Real Life Is Never Going To Be Able To Compete With Fiction Again.

She Doesn't Know I Cry For The Changing Times. That Just As I Reread Favourite Books, Some Small Part Of Me Hoping For A Different Ending, I Find Myself Hoping Against Hope That The War Will Never Come. That This Time, Somehow, It Will Leave Us Be.

It Was Such A Pleasure To Sink One's Hands Into The Warm Earth, To Feel At One's Fingertips The Possibilities Of The New Season.