Erwachsene halten sich auf Wegen. Kinder gehen auf Kundschaft.
Colors seemed brighter because Becky was there.
Sometimes,” she said to Atsula, “I feel that I could simply spread my arms and fall into the sky.” “That is because you are a scout,” said Atsula, the priestess. “When you die, you shall fall into the sky and become a star, to guide us as you guide us in life.
There really is nothing quite like total ignorance, is there?” The.
Honesty matters. Vulnerability matters. Being open about who you were at a moment in time when you were in a difficult or an impossible place matters more than anything.
But I knew how to visit the creatures who would never be sighted in the zoos or the museum or the woods. They were waiting for me in books and in stories.
Hunting, like life, Hunter believes, consists chiefly of waiting.
All things want to open. You must feel that need and use it.
I told you. He says it’s the miracle of the loafs and the fishes.” She stared at him blankly, and he felt stupid. When his father said it, people would laugh. “Um. Like in the Bible. The miracle of the loaves and the fishes. Dad used to say that he loafs and fishes, and it’s a miracle that he still makes money. It was a sort of joke.
I do not think I liked being a child very much. It seemed like something one was intended to endure, not enjoy: a fifteen-year-long sentence to a world less interesting than the one that the other race inhabited.
I got a son, stupid as a man who bought his stupid at a two-for-one sale, and you remind me of him.
The soup was rich, and warming. I had never drunk soup in the bath before. It was a perfectly new experience.
They walked downhill through the snow, pushing their way through the drifts. Chapman walked in front, his bare feet red against the crust-topped snow. “Aren’t you cold?” asked Shadow. “My wife was Choctaw,” said Chapman. “And she taught you mystical ways to keep out the cold?” “Nope. She thought I was crazy,” said Chapman. “She used t’say, ‘Johnny, why don’t you jes’ put on boots?
Main Street, which they were on, was a pretty street, even at night, and it looked old-fashioned in the best sense of the word – as if, for a hundred years, people had been caring for that street and they had not been in a hurry to lose anything they liked.
It’s the strangest thing about poetry: you can tell it’s poetry, even if you don’t speak the language.
How old are you?” “About fifteen, I think. Though I still feel the same as I always did,” Bod said, but Mother Slaughter interrupted, “And I still feels like I done when I was a tiny slip of a thing, making daisy chains in the old pasture. You’re always you, and that don’t change, and you’re always changing, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
The darkness that he entered this time was deep, and lit by a single star, and it was final.
You’ve a good heart,” she told him. “Sometimes that’s enough to see you safe wherever you go.
It wasn’t the best place to go for a walk, really. There were all these things that people had thrown away back there – old cookers and broken dishes and dolls with no arms and no legs and empty cans and broken bottles. Mum and Dad made me promise not to go exploring back there, because there were too many sharp things, and tetanus and such.
Several years earlier Spider had actually been tremendously disappointed by a barrelful of monkeys. It had done nothing he had considered particularly entertaining, apart from emit interesting noises, and eventually, once the noises had stopped and the monkeys were no longer doing anything at all – except possibly on an organic level – had needed to be disposed of in the dead of night.