The Night Swallowed Him Up Like A

Accursed, Blasted, Heartless Things [books]! Full Of Empty Promises, Full Of False Lures, Always Making You Hungry, Never Satisfying You, Never!

So Mo Began Filling The Silence With Words. He Lured Them Out Of The Pages As If They Had Only Been Waiting For His Voice, Words Long And Short, Words Sharp And Soft, Cooing, Purring Words. They Danced Through The Room, Painting Stained Glass Pictures, Tickling The Skin. Even When Meggie Nodded Off She Could Still Hear Them, Although Mo Had Closed The Book Long Ago. Words That Explained The World To Her, Its Dark Side And Its Light Side, Words That Built A Wall To Keep Out Bad Dreams. And Not A Single Bad Dream Came Over That Wall For The Rest Of The Night.

Is There Anything In The World Better Than Words On The Page? Magic Signs, The Voices Of The Dead, Building Blocks To Make Wonderful Worlds Better Than This One, Comforters, Companions In Loneliness. Keepers Of Secrets, Speakers Of The Truth...all Those Glorious Words.

The World Was A Terrible Place, Cruel, Pitiless, Dark As A Bad Dream. Not A Good Place To Live. Only In Books Could You Find Pity, Comfort, Happiness - And Love. Books Loved Anyone Who Opened Them, They Gave You Security And Friendship And Didn't Ask Anything In Return; They Never Went Away, Never, Not Even When You Treated Them Badly.

Children Are Caterpillars And Adults Are Butterflies. No Butterfly Ever Remembers What It Felt Like Being A Caterpillar.