“Being the reader of a dark fairy tale is much like being the hero of one. Our lives are filled with pain, boredom, and fear. We want to venture into the dark wood, to see the oddities and the beauties it holds, and to test ourselves against them. So we pick up a book of fairy tales. The real ones. THe weird ones. The dark ones. We see oddities and beauties galore. We test our courage and our understanding. Finally, we put the book down and return to our lives. And hopefully, just like the hero of the fairy tale, we return stronger, richer, and wiser. In difficult times - of recession and violence and political bitterness - we long for a dark forest to which we can escape; and from which we can return, better than we were before.”
“Wait!” the prince exclaimed. “After you kill it, can I ride it?”
“There is a power in children. There is a belief. A strength. A joy that makes just about anything possible.”
“But Joringel had no chance to answer. For Jorinda ran at her brother and threw her arms around him and held him so tight he could not breathe.
Little Jorinda and little Joringel held each other for a long, long time. Neither said a word.
At last Joringel withdrew and looked at his sister. "If you won't leave me," he whispered, "I won't leave you”
“Anger is a weed...It grows up through the soil, choking every other plant. You must stamp it out. Don't let it enter your garden. Stamp out your anger until it never comes back.”
“And if this seems strange to you—that, under these difficult, frightening, and outlandish circumstances, children might be happy...well, then you don't know all that much about children.”
“You see, my parents never cut off my head physically...But maybe emotionally...Most parents love their children and try to take care of them the best that they can. But parents mess up, all the time.”
“(T)hey at last understood that their problems would never have been solved by trying to cover them up or choke them back or pretend they didn't exist. By repression. No, their problems could only be solved by expression. By telling their tales, and by making up new ones, too.”
“And never cry," she said. "Choke back your tears. Tears are waves on the ocean of sadness. You will drown in them if you're not careful. Believe me. I know.”
“Well, feelings become words, and words become deeds, Jorinda was not only sneering at compliments, but also at complaints. She was not only jerking her head away to avoid seeing smiles, but also to avoid seeing tears. She frowned not just at those who bowed to her. She frowned at everyone.”
“Because, you see, in life, every triumph begins with failure.”
“I drive north out of Atlanta on Interstate 75, feeling as if I’ve got an IV drip of adrenaline. I want to stop at every rest area and throw knuckleballs to Jeff. I want to stop at the Tennessee state line and throw more knuckleballs. I feel as if I’ve just been given the last big piece of a complicated puzzle, and now it all fits. Thanks to Charlie, I have the proper grip and the awareness of coming straight through the doorframe. Thanks to Tim Wakefield, I have the right arm path, releasing the ball and bringing my arm through toward my cup. Thanks to Phil, I’m firing my hips and exploding toward the plate, an action that is giving my ball a devastating finish before it gets to the plate.”
“I have always been suspicious of the phrase, the glow of pregnancy, and my suspicions were only confirmed by Lillian's appearance. Instead of a glow, her whole body seemed to become more and more dull, sallow and sickly sweet and vague, like a candle burning out or a line of smudged writing.”
“The landing stage stood on its high crooked stilts with only one person watching the boat disappear round the bend of the river—a girl of twelve called Ada, the wet-nurse’s eldest child. As”
“She’s frightened of me. Mother would be so proud. He turned away, skewering a fish on one of his claws. I guess I did threaten to slice off her face.”
“What do you want to show me?"
"Nothing, really. I just want to be alone with you for a minute."
He pulled her to the back of the driveway, where they were almost completely hidden by a line of trees and the RV and the garage.
"Seriously?" she said. "That was so lame."
"I know," he said, turning to her. "Next time, I'll just say, 'Eleanor, follow me down this dark alley, I want to kiss you.'"
She didn't roll her eyes. She took a breath, then closed her mouth. He was learning how to catch her off guard.
She pushed her hands deeper in her pockets, so he put his hands on her elbows. "Next time," he said, "I'll just say, 'Eleanor, duck behind these bushes with me, I'm going to lose my mind if I don't kiss you.'"
She didn't move, so he thought it was probably okay to touch her face. Her skin was as soft as it looked, white and smooth as freckled porcelain.
"I'll just say, 'Eleanor, follow me down this rabbit hole...'"
He laid his thumb on her lips to see if she'd pull away. She didn't. He leaned closer. He wanted to close his eyes, but he didn't trust her not to leave him standing there.”
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