The Air Was Full Of Spices... A

When A Man Looks At The Stars, He Grows Calm And Forgets Small Things. They Answer His Questions And Show Him That His Earth Is Only One Of The Million Worlds. Hold Your Soul Still And Look Upward Often, And You Will Understand Their Speech. Never Forget The Stars.

The Difficulty Will Be To Keep Her From Learning Too Fast And Too Much. She Is Always Sitting With Her Little Nose Burrowing Into Books. She Doesn't Read Them, Miss Minchin; She Gobbles Them Up As If She Were A Little Wolf Instead Of A Little Girl. She Is Always Starving For New Books To Gobble, And She Wants Grown-up Books--great, Big, Fat Ones--french And German As Well As English--history And Biography And Poets, And All Sorts Of Things. Drag Her Away From Her Books When She Reads Too Much.

Their Eyes Met With A Singular Directness Of Gaze. Between Them A Spark Passed Which Was Not Afterwards To Be Extinguished, Though Neither Of Them Knew The Moment Of Its Kindling.

Sometimes Since I've Been In The Garden I've Looked Up Through The Trees At The Sky And I Have Had A Strange Feeling Of Being Happy As If Something Was Pushing And Drawing In My Chest And Making Me Breathe Fast. Magic Is Always Pushing And Drawing And Making Things Out Of Nothing. Everything Is Made Out Of Magic, Leaves And Trees, Flowers And Birds, Badgers And Foxes And Squirrels And People. So It Must Be All Around Us. In This Garden - In All The Places.

... Justice Is Mercy's Highest Self.