Dustfinger Closed His Eyes And Listened. He

Thats Beautiful! Sad And Beautiful," Murmured Meggie. Why Were Sad Stories Often So Beautiful? It Was Different In Real Life.

Books Are Like Flypaper, Memories Cling To The Printed Pages Better Than Anything Else.

When It Came To Hiding, Even Gwin Had Nothing To Teach Dustfinger. A Strange Sense Of Curiosity Had Always Driven Him To Explore The Hidden, Forgotten Corners Of This And Any Other Place, And All That Knowledge Had Now Come In Useful.

You Know, It's A Funny Thing About Writers. Most People Don't Stop To Think Of Books Being Written By People Much Like Themselves. They Think That Writers Are All Dead Long Ago--they Don't Expect To Meet Them In The Street Or Out Shopping. They Know Their Stories But Not Their Names, And Certainly Not Their Faces. And Most Writers Like It That Way.

Only In Books Could You Find Pity, Comfort, Happiness And Love.