The Ogress and the Orphans

A neighbor exists without condition--if I were to declare that this person is my neighbor and that person is not, then it is I, and not they, who have failed at neighborliness. It is only by claiming all as your neighbors, and behaving as though all are your neighbors, that we become good neighbors ourselves. The act of being a good neighbor must always begin with us.

Books are funny things. The ideas and knowledge contained inside their pages have mass and velocity and gravity. They bend both space and time. They have minds of their own. There is a power in a book that surpasses even that of a dragon.

Something for herself. Something to share. A way to belong. She learned to trade in kindness and discovered the tremendous value in small mercies and selfless giving. The more she gave, the more she seemed to have. It was the best sort of magic.

The antidote to anger is tenderness, and the antidote to discord is reconciliation.

It is our enemies from whom we learn enmity, and it is our friends from whom we learn friendship. The question, then, is not ‘What shall we learn?’ The question is ‘What shall we choose to teach?

Some people are gifted not only in seeing the best in people, but in convincing those people to see the best in themselves.

So maybe the Reading Room is magic because books really are magic. I read once that books bend both space and time, and the more books you have in one place, the more space and time will bend and twist and fold over itself. I'm not sure if that's true but it feels true. Of course, I read that in a book, and maybe the book was just bragging.

What is the use of truth when people refuse to believe verifiable facts?

You sillies! It doesn’t matter who did it,” she said to anyone who would listen. “The thing that matters is that it happened. The thing that matters is that this act of kindness and generosity could have been done by anyone. Anyone at all! The world is filled with goodness, and our response should not be silence and suspicion. You have a responsibility to be grateful. You have a responsibility to do good as a result. Be good and do good. That’s the lesson.

An idea, my dear,” Myron tutted, “can never be stolen, because it cannot be owned. Just as the sun cannot be owned and the air cannot be owned and the rain cannot be owned. A seed is planted in the ground and grows thanks to the gifts of sun and rain. Does the seed own the idea of growing? Does the sun own the idea of shining, or the rain own the idea of watering the earth? Of course not. Ideas are self-replicating. The notion that they can be limited or hoarded is nonsense.

Life is long, after all. And over time, the paths we take tend to intertwine and overlap.

She learned to trade in kindness and discovered the tremendous value in small mercies and selfless giving. The more she gave, the more she seemed to have.

They remembered that a story, in the mind of the reader, is like music. And discussing stories among other minds and other hearts feels like a symphony. They remembered how ideas make their own light, and how words have their own mass and weight and being.

You humans think of time as a thing that passes. But that’s not true. Time simply is. If a person leaves Stone-in-the-Glen on a long journey, we know that Stone-in-the-Glen still exists. And we know it can be returned to. Why should time be any different? A moment is a concrete thing, separate from other moments. It doesn’t leave. It doesn’t pass. It simply exists on its own point on the axis. Take this moment, for example. Why on Earth would you think the universe would work so hard as to create this moment if only to let it slide away to oblivion?

We take care of one another, Cass thought. We look out for one another. We belong to the Orphan House, and we belong to each other, and that will never change.

Public good means that the public is good.

They came. The cobbler's wife made cookies. She handed one to everyone, whether they wanted it or not. People shared the books they had received. They listened to others share their own books. And they found themselves remembering the Library. Even the people who were too young to remember the Library found themselves remembering. They remembered that a story, in the mind of the reader, is like music. And discussing stories among other minds and other hearts feels like a symphony. They remembered how ideas make their own light, and how words have their own mass and weight and being.

By the Antelope, you shan’t stay here!” the Council decreed.

Every story has a villain, after all. And every villain has a story.

They remembered how ideas make their own light, and how words have their own mass and weight and being.

If the reason for the kindness isn’t kind, do we still call it kindness?

Even knowledge can be used for wicked purposes. Even understanding can be twisted by those who wish to twist it. Even empathy can be transformed into a weapon.

is magic because books really are magic. I read once that books bend both space and time, and the more books you have in one

the way a heart is beautiful in the moment before it breaks.