The human will, that force unseen, The offspring of a deathless soul, Can hew a way to any goal, Though walls of granite intervene.

Her words imbued it with a peculiar fragrance; it was no longer just her private organ, but a treasure, a magic, potent treasure, a God-given thing--and none the less so because she traded it day and day out for a few pieces or silver.

I would be speaking even with my silence, because at the moment I am nothing but a single word.

Childhood is a tricky business. Usually, something goes wrong.

Written By Maurice Sendak

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