Eyes Like Stars

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.

Could we wear spandex and blow things up?

She's under duress," Peaseblossom said. "I don't care if she's under duress, over it, or alongside it," Moth said. "Nothing in this world supersedes cake.

What a diva!" "Stupid, men can't be divas..." "Divo, then." "That just sounds weird. Call him a jerk and be done with it.

What color is pandemonium? It sounds yellow.

The Brigands charged in with their weapons drawn. "Who are you?" Young Bertie asked. "We're the bad guys!" their leader announced. "What are you going to do?" "Plunder and pillage!" one of them yelled. The others immediately shoved him. "Not in front of the kid, Ralph! Fer cryin' out loud..." "Oh, yeah. Sorry! We're here to take your candy!

The only reason I'm friends with any of you is because I outgrew the von Trapps, one annoying Austrian at a time.

Crazier than a bag full of crazy?

You're a little tall to play Ariel." said Moth. "And you have way too many muscles," said Mustardseed. "But you might be able to pull it off," Cobweb said, "if you can look really constipated.

What's past is prologue, and the world awaits.

He dodged remarkably fast for a melancholy introvert.

I always walked the ragged edge.

One o' these days, lass, I'm goin' t' still that mouth o' yers. - Nate

And now, the bane of your existence, the killer of all joys, the Stage Manager-

You didn't just write the play, Bertie," Peaseblossom said suddenly. "You ordered the Players about, shouted, and threw an artistic hissy fit. Do you know what that makes you?" "A temperamental fusspot?" Mustardseed guessed. "Crazier than a bag full of crazy?" Moth said. "Close," Peaseblossom said. "It makes her a Director.

He pulled her close. “Someday, I will win your trust, and you will be the one to set me free. I know it.” “I won’t.” Bertie recoiled from both him and the assertion she would do such a thing. “Not ever.” Ariel made no move to touch her again, though his words were a caress. “Don’t make promises you won’t be able to keep.

I may hold ye at arm's length....But I want ye t' be mine an' mine alone. - Nate to Bertie, as they danced.

Maybe I got sick of accusations, sick of being Polonius's daughter, and Laertes's sister, and Hamlet's girlfriend. Maybe I wanted, for a short while, simply to be myself.

Peaseblossom-decorous, proper Peaseblossom-dropped her trousers to waggle her naked, pale bottom at the Stage Manager. Bertie laughed involuntarily, choked on her coffee, and nearly died as it came out her nose, but it was worth the searing pain in her nostrils to see the look on the Stage Manager's face.

His tiny, naked butt disappeared into the stream as he cried, "Wheeeee! Balls out!" I think that's a rugby reference," Bertie said. "But don't quote me on that.

This has been such a Monday! I wish I stayed in bed, and I wish that yesterday had never happened.

About the time he threatened her nose with his finger, Peaseblossom lost her grip on the situation with the boys. The door crashed open, and three irate fairies launched themselves at the Stage Manager. Cobweb and Moth pelted him with sequins while Mustardseed rammed beads into his ears. "Dance!" they commanded, and dance he did, hopping with impotent anger and pain from one foot to the other as he batted his meaty hands at them.

The collar had restrained his winds but not killed them. They uncoiled from behind the shadows, ready to surround her, to lift her up, to carry her away with only Ariel’s silk-clad arms wrapped about her to keep her from falling. Spirare, they whispered to her like an incantation. Breathe us in. Bertie didn’t mean to, but she inhaled, and everything inside her was a spring morning, a rose opening its petals to the sun, the light coming through the wavering glass of an old, diamond-paned window. Tendrils of wind reached for Bertie with a coaxing hand. Release him, and he will love you.

The fairies put on their thinking caps, which were red and pointy.

Maybe I didn't try as hard as I ought when he started calling you names. Serves him right, the nasty old turd. Punch him again, Moth" - Peaseblossom

This is a theater," Bertie, annoyed by the inquisition, dropped him onto stage. Several feet of slack cable landed atop the fairy in a slithering heap. "Oh!" Peaseblossom said. "You've buried him alive!

Ariel laughed and now her goose bumps had goose bumps.

No," Bertie said, "something tragic. The most famous of all the Shakespearean tragedies-" Mustardseed jumped up and down. "Your hair!" "Shakespearean tragedy, Mustardseed.