If There Is A War To Be

Half A Dozen Brats Turned With Expressions Of Derision, And Lyra Threw Her Cigarette Down, Recognizing The Cue For A Fight. Everyone's Daemon Instantly Became Warlike: Each Child Was Accompanied By Fangs, Or Claws, Or Bristling Fur, And Pantalaimon, Contemptuous Of The Limited Imaginations Of These Gyptian Daemons, Became A Dragon The Size Of A Deer Hound.

I'm Just Trying To Wake Up - I'm So Afraid Of Sleeping All My Life And Then Dying - I Want To Wake Up First. I Wouldn't Care If It Was Just For An Hour, As Long As I Was Properly Alive And Awake.

Everyone, From The Mother Superior To The Priests To My Parents--they Were So Upset And Reproachful...i Felt As If Something They All Passionately Believed In Depended On Me Carrying On With Something I Didn't.

You Going To Be A Scientist When You Grow Up?” That Sort Of Question Deserved A Blank Stare, Which It Got.

A Story, To Me, Has A Particular Sprite, Like The Angel Of The Spirit Of That Story - And It's My Job To Attend To What It Wants To Do.