Thank God That Bumble-ardy's Parents Are Dead

When Mozart Is Playing In My Room, I Am In Conjunction With Something I Can't Explain... I Don't Need To. I Know That If There's A Purpose For Life, It Was For Me To Hear Mozart.

My Sister Had Her Own Room. She Also Had Innumerable Boyfriends. I Had A Yo-yo Collection That Was Beyond Belief, And The Reason I Had It Was Mostly That I Would Stand In The Doorway Of The Living Room Watching Her And Her Boyfriend. Finally She Caught On How To Get This Kid Out Of The Way. Give Him A Yo-yo!

We All Want To Be Renewed, Don't We?

If Life Is So Critical, If Anne Frank Could Die, If My Friend Could Die, Children Were As Vulnerable As Adults, And That Gave Me A Secret Purpose To My Work, To Make Them Live. Because I Wanted To Live. I Wanted To Grow Up.

I Believe There Is No Part Of Our Lives, Our Adult As Well As Child Life, When We're Not Fantasizing, But We Prefer To Relegate Fantasy To Children, As Though It Were Some Tomfoolery Only Fit For The Immature Minds Of The Young. Children Do Live In Fantasy And Reality; They Move Back And Forth Very Easily In A Way We No Longer Remember How To Do.