He Had Been Through A Good Deal

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. . .

Bastian Had Climbed A Dune Of Purplish-red Sand And All Around Him He Saw Nothing But Hill After Hill Of Every Imaginable Color. Each Hill Revealed A Shade Or Tint That Occured In No Other. The Nearest Was Cobalt Blue, Another Was Saffron Yellow, Then Came Crimson Red, Then Indigo, Apple Green, Sky Blue, Orange, Peach, Mauve, Turquoise Blue, Lilac, Moss Green, Ruby Red, Burnt Umber, Indian Yellow, Vermillion, Lapis Lazuli, And So On From Horizon To Horizon. And Between The Hill, Separating Color From Color, Flowed Streams Of Gold And Silver Sand.

You Don't Feel A Thing. There's Just Something Missing. And Once It Gets Hold Of You, Something More Is Missing Every Day. Soon There Won't Be Anything Left Of Us.

Life Holds One Great But Quite Commonplace Mystery. Though Shared By Each Of Us And Known To All, Seldom Rates A Second Thought. That Mystery, Which Most Of Us Take For Granted And Never Think Twice About, Is Time.

You Wish For Something, You've Wanted It For Years, And You're Sure You Want It, As Long As You Know You Can't Have It. But If All At Once It Looks As Though Your Wish Might Come True, You Suddenly Find Yourself Wishing You Had Never Wished For Any Such Thing.