For A While Bastian Stood Motionless. He

Every Real Story Is A Never Ending Story.

At Certain Junctures In The Course Of Existence, Unique Moments Occur When Everyone And Everything, Even The Most Distant Stars, Combine To Bring About Something That Could Not Have Happened Before And Will Never Happen Again. Few People Know How To Take Advantage Of These Critical Moments, Unfortunately, And They Often Pass Unnoticed. When Someone Does Recognize Them, However, Great Things Happen In The World.

One May Enter The Literary Parlor Via Just About Any Door, Be It The Prison Door, The Madhouse Door, Or The Brothel Door. There Is But One Door One May Not Enter It Through, Which Is The Child Room Door. The Critics Will Never Forgive You Such. The Great Rudyard Kipling Is One Of A Number Of People To Have Suffered From This. I Keep Wondering To Myself What This Peculiar Contempt Towards Anything Related To Childhood Is All About.

You See, Momo... It's Like This. Sometimes, When You've A Very Long Street Ahead Of You, You Think How Terribly Long It Is And Feel Sure You'll Never Get It Swept... And Then You Hurry. You Work Faster And Faster, And Every Time You Look Up There Seems To Be Just As Much To Sweep As Before, And You Try Even Harder…, And You Panic, And In The End You're Out Of Breath And Have To Stop-and Still The Street Stretches Away In From Of You.

Maybe All The People Who Say Ghosts Don't Exist Are Just Afraid To Admit That They Do.