Good Authour Good Books

Poor Earthworm,' The Ladybird Said, Whispering In James's Ear. 'he Loves To Make Everything Into A Disaster. He Hates To Be Happy. He Is Only Happy When He Is Gloomy.

But There Was One Other Thing That The Grown-ups Also Knew, And It Was This: That However Small The Chance Might Be Of Striking Lucky, The Chance Is There. The Chance Had To Be There.

I Have Found It Impossible To Talk To Anyone About My Problems. I Couldn't Face The Embarrassment, And Anyway I Lack The Courage. Any Courage I Had Was Knocked Out Of Me When I Was Young. But Now, All Of Sudden I Have A Sort Of Desperate Wish To Tell Everything To Somebody.

I Was Observing Her Closely As I Talked, And After A While I Began To Get The Impression That She Was Not, In Fact, Quite So Merry And Smiling A Girl As I Had Been Led To Believe At First. She Seemed To Be Coiled In Herself, As Though With A Secret She Was Jealously Guarding. The Deep-blue Eyes Moved Too Quickly About The Room, Never Settling Or Resting On One Thing For More Than A Moment; And Over All Her Face, Though So Faint That They Might Not Even Have Been There, Those Small Downward Lines Of Sorrow.

When You're Writing A Book, It's Rather Like Going On A Very Long Walk, Across Valleys And Mountains And Things [...] The Highest Mountain On The Walk Is Obviously The End Of The Book, Because It's Got To Be The Best View Of All, When Everything Comes Together And You Can Look Back And See That Everything You've Done All Ties Up. But It's A Very, Very Long, Slow Process.