The Civil War always moves me.

Your life is an occasion. Rise to it.

Toy Empressario Wonder Afficianado Avid Shoewearer

Mahoney: You have to live. Mr. Magorium: Darlin'...I have.

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

Turn the page, continue reading, and let the next story begin.

We humans can never claim to do nothing, we breath, we pulse, we regenerate.

You become the monster you fear the worst, so the monster won't overtake you.

It's easy to get discouraged; just keep writing because you love to do it, and you'll keep improving.

It'll be okay." She didn't know if it would be okay or not. She somehow doubted it, but what else was there to say?

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.

Mrs. Reed grabbed Kayla's wrist. "Good. You haven't gotten that damned tattoo. Whatever you do, don't let them make you get it.

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

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?

There are a million things one might do with a block of wood. But what do you think might happen if someone, just once, believed in it?

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.

Even though she saw tattoos everywhere, they continued to fascinate her. How bizarre to be branded like a box of cereal. Didn't people mind being counted as just one more product on a shelf? There had to be more to a person than that.

Perfect happiness would be knowing that all my family and friends were happy and safe. Then I'd go to a tropical island with my husband where it was gorgeous and fun all day long and interesting and fun all evening. Good food and dancing would be nice, too, and weekly visits from those safe and happy family and friends. Plus world peace.

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

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