And then, in a skittering, chittering rush, it came. The hand, running high on its fingertips, scrabbled through the tall grass and up onto a tree stump. It stood there for a moment, like crab tasting the air, and then it made one triumphant, nail-clacking leap onto the center of the tablecloth. Time slowed for Coraline. The white fingers closed around the black key....
Neil GaimanAbout author
- Author's profession: Author, Writer
- Nationality: british
- Born: November 10, 1960
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What seems strained-a mere triumph of preverse ingenuity-to one age, seems plain and obvious to another, so that our ancestors would often wonder how how we could possibly miss what we wonder how they could have been silly-clever enough to find. And between different ages there is no impartial judge on earth, for no one stands outside the historical proscess; and of course no one is so completely enslaved to it as those who take are own age to be, not one more period, but a final and...
C. S. Lewis
There is sweet music here that softer falls. Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls. Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
