A Snicker of Magic

The way he said her name made my heart cramp. In all my years of word collecting, I've learned this to be a tried and true fact: I can very often tell how much a person loves another person by the way they say their name. I think that's one of the best feelings in the world, when you know your name is safe in another person's mouth. When you know they'll never shout it out like a cuss word, but say it or whisper it like a once-upon-a-time.

Home isn't just a house or a city or a place; home is what happens when you're brave enough to love people.

Stories aren't peaceful things. Stories don't care how shy you are. They don't care how insecure you are, either. Stories find their way out eventually. All you gotta do is turn 'em loose.

It's so weird how life is so full of moving around--people coming and going, people passing by each other all day long. You never know which person's going to steal your heart. You never know which is going to settle your soul. All you can do is look. And hope. And believe.

And if you say 'I love you,' and you mean it, then love makes up for a whole lifetime of mistakes. That's some kind of magic.

Some people are born starry. Some people shine so bright you can't help but sit back and stare. Some people can't help but shine.

Forgetting people you love is impossible. It’d be like forgetting how to breathe.

Sometimes you don't need words to feel better; you just need the nearness of your dog.

I wondered if there was something sacred, something everlasting, about melted ice cream and summer days and good stories.

Here's what I've learned about miracles: Sometimes they turn up quick, and sometimes they take their sweet time getting to you. It's hard to tell either way because a miracle never looks exactly the way you think it should. Some miracles are big and flashy, and others are sweet and simple. Some miracles make you want to shout, and others make you want to sing. And some miracles, the very best miracles of all, show up wearing cowboy boots.

Mama glanced down at me. "Do you have a crush on him?" "Not a crush." I shook my head. "More like an inflate. He makes me feel the opposite of crushed. He makes my heart feel like a balloon, like it's going to blow up and fly right out of my chest.

I was surrounded by words and stories and dust-speckled light. That's a pretty perfect way to be.

Oliver's boardroom was actually a library. A good library. A library where books looked worn-out and well read and loved on. The library was two stories tall with a balcony wrapped around the top level. The big window on the top floor was propped half open. A rebel beam of sunlight pushed through the clouds, shining through the rain beads stuck to the screen and glass. And then that strange, golden rain light shone warm and pretty over Oliver's books. I wondered if the sun had missed the books, had waited as long as it possibly cold to shine over those spines again. I knew how that felt, to love a story so much you didn't just want to read it, you wanted to feel it.

I made a big show of catching invisible words in my hands and putting them in my mouth and chewing on them. I knew my word-catching charade wasn't the best way to make a fast friend at Stoneberry Elementary School. But it was the only way I could think of to make my sister feel better. And I think if you're lucky, a sister is the same as a friend, but better. A sister is like a super-forever-infinity friend.

Believe is a powerful word to see and to say. But that morning, I felt it. And feeling it was the best of all. I knew something wonderful was about to happen to me. I didn't know what, or why, or how. But I believed.

So you keep catching them words, you hear? Pluck them out of the wind. String them together like the finest set of pearls. Line them up on paper. And if it hurts too much to say them, then you sing them, or whisper them, or write them into a story. But don't waste them. Your words matter more than you know.

...it's possible to have a happy ending, even if the ending isn't what you imagined.

That's a wonderful word: maybe. I watched maybe stretch out, long and starry. The letter y looked as fiery as the tail of a comet; it looped around our shoulders, connecting us all together.

If the right person tells a story, I guess it doesn't matter how many times you've heard it. Your heart still hears it brand new

Mama glanced up at the lonesome moon. The moon glowed down over her face like it was very happy to be noticed. 'I can't imagine anybody or anything lonelier than that midnight moon,' said Mama. 'That'd be awful - sitting up against ten thousand stars without arms to reach out and hold a single one.

I didn't say another word to Mama that night, but I could feel something good even then: the YES in my heart, the swirling-around in my belly, the prickly tingling all the way from the freckle on my finger to the tip of my pinky toe. That much wonderful could only mean one thing: There was still magic in Midnight Gulch.

Your words matter more than you know

Today I'll wear a dress made of sunlight, I'll spin like the lilies, I'll bloom like the stars. Hands hold, Hearts fold, Under my thumbprint sky.

My eyes are tiny but they've taken in a world full of wonderful.

I believe that a family's still a family not matter if you have two people or ten, no matter if you're raised by a mama or a grandpa. A family can look a hundred different ways, I knew that.

I knew how that felt, to love a story so much you didn’t just want to read it, you wanted to feel it.

Maybe people can’t grow roots the same as trees do, but we both needed a place to dig in and grow some good memories.

I never wanted to forget all the ways we were connected that day: By our shadows and sunlight. By pounding hearts and a starry maybe.

The truth is that I've never cared anything about sports. In PE, I do my best to get hit with the dodgeball on the first throw so I can sit out and read instead of play. I'd rather eat a hot dog at a baseball game than play baseball. I'd rather paint a soccer ball than kick one. I don't mind running, but only if I'm running toward something wonderful. I don't see the point in running away from anything, ever. But tree climbing is different. Tree climbing is natural and easy and I'm pretty sure I could climb for hours and never get tired. Mama says it's the mountain girl in me. She says mountain girls climb trees and fences and anything else that gets us closer to the stars.