Books Have To Be Heavy Because The

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.

There Was Another Reason [she] Took Her Books Whenever They Went Away. They Were Her Home When She Was Somewhere Strange. They Were Familiar Voices, Friends That Never Quarreled With Her, Clever, Powerful Friends -- Daring And Knowledgeable, Tried And Tested Adventurers Who Had Traveled Far And Wide. Her Books Cheered Her Up When She Was Sad And Kept Her From Being Bored.

Why Do Grown-ups Think It's Easier For Children To Bear Secrets Than The Truth? Don't They Know About The Horror Stories We Imagine To Explain The Secrets?

The Night Swallowed Him Up Like A Thieving Fox.

So It's Happened, I Kept Thinking, You're In The Middle Of A Story Exactly As You've Always Wanted, And It's Horrible. Fear Tastes Quite Different When You're Not Just Reading About It, Meggie, And Playing Hero Wasn't Half As Much Fun As I'd Expected.