Every Real Story Is A Never Ending

For A While Bastian Stood Motionless. He Was So Stunned By What He Had Just Heard That He Couldn't Decide What To Do... What He Had Hoped Was His Ruin And What He Had Feared His Salvation.

He Had Been Through A Good Deal In The Course Of The Great Quest — He Had Seen Beautiful Things And Horrible Things — But Up Until Now He Had Not Known That One And The Same Creature Can Be Both, That Beauty Can Be Terrifying.

All That Matters In Life," The Grey Man Went On, "is To Climb The Ladder Of Success, Amount To Something, Own Things. When A Person Climbs Higher Than The Rest, Amounts To More, Owns More Things, Everything Else Comes Automatically: Friendship, Love, Respect, Et Cetera..." "isn't There Anyone Who Loves You?" Momo Whispered.

Nothing Can Happen More Than Once, But Everything Must Happen One Day; Over Hill And Dale, Wood And Stream, My Dying Voice Will Blow Away. . .

There Were Doors That Looked Like Large Keyholes, Others That Resembled The Entrances To Caves, There Were Golden Doors, Some Were Padded And Some Were Studded With Nails, Some Were Paper-thin And Others As Thick As The Doors Of Treasure Houses; There Was One That Looked Like A Giant's Mouth And Another That Had To Be Opened Like A Drawbridge, One That Suggested A Big Ear And One That Was Made Of Gingerbread, One That Was Shaped Like An Oven Door, And One That Had To Be Unbuttoned.