Truth And Dreams Are Always Getting Muddled.

I Thought How You Can Never Tell Just By Looking At Them What They Were Thinking Or What Was Happening In Their Lives. Even When You Got Daft People Or Drunk People On Buses, People That Went On Stupid And Shouted Rubbish Or Tried To Tell You All About Themselves, You Could Never Really Tell About Them Either... I Knew If Somebody Looked At Me, They'd Know Nothing About Me, Either.

A Good Bookshop Is Not Just About Selling Books From Shelves, But Reaching Out Into The World And Making A Difference.

She Finds Tales Everywhere, In Grains Of Sand She Picks Up From The Garden, In Puffs Of Smoke That Drift Out From The Chimneys Of The Village, In Fragments Of Smooth Timber Or Glass In The Jetsam. She Will Ask Them, "where Did You Come From? How Did You Get Here?" And They Will Answer Her In Voices Very Like Her Own, But With New Lilts And Squeaks And Splashes In Them That Show They Are Their Own.

We Have Each Other, And Our Stories Twist And Mingle Like The Twisting Currents Of A River. We Hold Each Other Tight As We Spin And Lurch Across Our Lives. There Are Moments Of Great Joy And Magic. The Most Astounding Things Can Lie Waiting As Each Day Dawns, As Each Page Turns.

There's Light And Joy, But There's Also Darkness All Around And We Can Be Lost In It.