Ten Minutes Can Be A

Because By Now Elinor Had Understood This, Too: A Longing For Books Was Nothing Compared With What You Could Feel For Human Beings. The Books Told You About That Feeling. The Books Spoke Of Love, And It Was Wonderful To Listen To Them, But They Were No Substitute For Love Itself. They Couldn't Kiss Her Like Meggie, They Couldn't Hug Her Like Resa, They Couldn't Laugh Like Mortimer. Poor Books, Poor Elinor.

Sometimes, When You’re Sad You Don’t Know What To Do, It Helps To Be Angry. But Then The Tears Come Back Again All The Same, And You Fall Asleep With The Salty Taste Of Them On Your Lips.

The Night Swallowed Him Up Like A Thieving Fox.

Perhaps Because This Time Not Fear But Love Made Him Read.

-you Forgot Something Important! -what? -it's Under My Sweater! -what?! -me!