I Hate To Cook And Love To

We Must Ask Ourselves These Questions As Often As We Dare. How Will The World Change If We Do Not Question It?

Seasons Passed, Fall And Winter And Spring And Summer. Leaves Blew In Through The Open Door Of Lucius Clarke’s Shop, And Rain, And The Green Outrageous Hopeful Light Of Spring. People Came And Went, Grandmothers And Doll Collectors And Little Girls With Their Mothers. Edward Tulane Waited. The Seasons Turned Into Years. Edward Tulane Waited. He Repeated The Old Doll’s Words Over And Over Until They Wore A Smooth Groove Of Hope In His Brain: Someone Will Come; Someone Will Come For You.

Do You Think Everybody Misses Somebody? Like I Miss My Mama?” “mmmm-hmmm,” Said Gloria. She Closed Her Eyes. “i Believe, Sometimes, That The Whole World Has An Aching Heart.

There Ain't No Way You Can Hold Onto Something That Wants To Go, You Understand? You Can Only Love What You Got While You Got It.

During The Night, While Bull And Lucy Slept, Edward, With Ever-open Eyes, Stared Up At The Constellations. He Said Their Names, And Then He Said The Names Of The People Who Loved Him. He Started With Abilene, And Then Went On To Nellie And Lawrence And From There To Bull And Lucy, And Then He Ended Again With Abilene: Abilene, Nellie, Lawrence, Bull, Lucy, Abilene. See? Edward Told Pellegrina. I Am Not Like The Princess. I Know About Love.