In The Middle Of A

And I Couldn't Make Fun Of Her For That Dream. It Was My Dream, Too. And Indian Boys Weren't Supposed To Dream Like That. And White Girls From Small Towns Weren't Supposed To Dream Big, Either. We Were Supposed To Be Happy With Our Limitations. But There Was No Way Penelope And I Were Going To Sit Still. Nope, We Both Wanted To Fly.

We Can All Learn From Every Text. Reading The Work That Disgusts You Can Only Strengthen Your Core Beliefs. I Could Teach A Semester-long Course Based Only On Reading The Local Telephone Book. All Stories Can Be Taught In Valuable Ways.

The Librarian Spoke In A Reverential Whisper. Corliss Knew She'd Misjudged This Passionate Woman. Maybe She Dressed Poorly, But She Was Probably Great In Bed, Certainly Believed In God And Goodness, And Kept An Illicit Collection Of Overdue Library Books On Her Shelves.

Imagination Is The Politics Of Dreams; Imagination Turns Every Word Into A Bottle Rocket. . . . Imagine Every Day Is Independence Day And Save Us From Traveling The River Changed; Save Us From Hitchhiking The Long Road Home. Imagine An Escape. Imagine That Your Own Shadow On The Wall Is A Perfect Door. Imagine A Song Stronger Than Penicillin. Imagine A Spring With Water That Mends Broken Bones. Imagine A Drum Which Wraps Itself Around Your Heart. Imagine A Story That Puts Wood In The Fireplace.

When It Comes To Death, We Know That Laughter And Tears Are Pretty Much The Same Thing.