Second, there are so many magical places in books that you can't go to, like Hogwarts and Middle Earth, so I wanted to set a story in a place where children can actually go.
quote by Cornelia Funke
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Without Context - So Absurd
Who has the money to publish elaborately
illustrated children's books with over 350
stunning paintings and artworks, another
with drawings, glossy and inviting; impar-
ting no knowledge whatsoever?
The book on symbols, signs and visual
codes informs the underage reader door-
ways symbolise entrances and the hearth
is a symbol of safety and comfort - well,
hallelujah, nobody knew!
The broom is a symbol of removal - no way,
I thought it a symbol of magical midnight
trips for witches & wizards from Hogwarts;
curtains symbolise separation, oh wow,
insight indeed!
The book of Myths and Legends recounts
each story on two pages accompanied by
several pictures stating the stories explain
the world and our place in it - thus stylised
accounts of precession
And world cataclysms in which ‘gods'
swallow their children are supposed to
explain the meaning of life? No, myths
and legends are illogical - only when
seen as relaying
Ancient knowledge of science and astro-
nomy in codes where natural forces are
depicted as persons; do the tales have
meaning, otherwise they are without
context - so absurd…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Picture-Books in Winter
Summer fading, winter comes--
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.
Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.
All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.
We may see how all things are
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.
How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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A Cinderella Story' vs Reality
There is a girl and a boy,
Connected only in cyber,
Never met,
Never phoned,
How long can it last?
It is like in the movie ‘A Cinderella Story’,
Her friend said.
The girl loves him so much,
She cannot took her mind off him,
She waits in front of computer every night,
Waiting for her Prince Charming to greet.
They have known each other a year,
They lived very far apart,
It is like one is up there,
One is down the globe,
Can it last?
She wondered.
One day,
Her Prince Charming said those magical words to her,
She was barely able to breathe,
She was the happiest person on Earth,
But Prince Charming loves her as…?
On one beautiful night,
As usual,
She spent almost hours and hours in front of the computer,
Wait till Prince Charming to come,
But he did not,
She was a bit upset,
She wrote to Prince Charming,
‘You love me as what? ’
Prince Charming replied her the next day,
‘I love you as my girlfriend’,
‘Will you be mine? ’
For God’s sake,
She was absolutely wanted to be his,
‘I sure will’,
It was the best day of her life.
So, there it was,
For her,
She hopes her story does not end just like that,
She will wait for her Prince Charming,
To come to her,
In reality,
Not just in cyber,
Even if it take 100 years.
She wanted them to see,
She wanted him to take her hands,
She wanted to dance in the rain with him,
She wanted to feel his warm,
She wanted him for sure,
She will wait, she swore.
A Cinderella Story?
It is different with her story, she thought,
It is just the same,
When it comes to how they stay connected.
poem by Lovita Lara
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The Dreams of Un-forbidden
I used to dream
Dream of places with endless skies
Dream of places with high mountains
Dream of places with low clouds
Dream of the place I am living in
But nobody dares dream here
Here is the place
Where the men have no hope
Where woman walk without a soul
Where children’s laughter
No longer bounces off the walls
This is my home
And I have no shame
Even when I roam
To the places so hidden
I wish it to be the un-forbidden
poem by Jackie Emley
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The Magical Horse
the magical horse who i go to
in my dreams. the magical horse
who always finds me, one that
always knows what i'm feeling.
the one that takes me places
to make me feel better and the one
who comes to my window to talk
and whatever i'm lost he always
comes to my rescue. the magical
horse i go to in my dream
poem by Brittany Sherlin
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This is Sublime
The tablecloth of time can be reused without
disturbing the cutlery and plates of events al-
though residual stains reveal inconsistencies
such as OOParts, Velikovsky’s discoveries,
mismatched historical periods are explained
by quantum’s Many Worlds theory; some-
where the apocalypse have taken place
Somewhere there is an Atlantis, earth is called
Gaia, someplace Biblical leprosy is nuclear fall-
out, in other places Mars is cleft by a meteorite,
in a parallel universe Earth is Tiamat, halved by
the passing of Niburu - everything imagined
happens somewhere; there is a place where
conspiracies and underground cities exist
Infinity gives you room for everything new, Terry
Pratchett uses James Bond and Tibetan Monks
containing a Lobsang in a story of Time where
the present equals the future and past and
procrastinators wind and unwind time while
anthropomorphic personifications stalk the
realms outside time – this is sublime!
Thief of Time – Terry Pratchett, Corgi Books,
2002, p.108
OOParts (Out Of Place Artifacts)
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Good Man
If you ever find a way to forgive me
And if you ever find a way to put this all to rest
Because Im hanging on your dress now like a little boy
And all that you wanted
And all that you wanted
Was a good man
Alright
Right in the middle of another big fight
Pull back another one tonight
Ill never forget, but who protects the memories
When we bleed each other from the vein
And if you ever find a way to make this interesting
If I ever find a way to stop disintegrating
Into pieces that I was that you destroy
And all that you wanted
And all that you wanted
Was a good man
Alright
Right in the middle of another big fight
Go to bed, its getting light out
Why do you, why do you, why do you always stop me on places when Im coming down
How do you do it when Ive overwhelmed by a violet sky?
We fly in a decaying orbit, 66,000 miles an hour goes by
When we kissed and only now do I feel your mouth
Like an ache you never knew
And it was right in front of you
Oh how do you do it? roots in the soil untangle
Releasing your sweet summer warmth, but still I recoil like mace
And all the little moments I pushed you away that I cant erase
Every moment overflows with power, 66,000 miles an hour
And if you ever find a way to forgive me
And if you ever find a way to put this all to rest
Cos Im hanging on your dress now like a little boy
And all that you wanted
And all that you wanted
Was a good man
Alright
And all that you wanted
And all that you wanted
Was a good man
Was a good man, good man
Was a good man, good man
Was a good man, (was a good man) good man
Was a good man, (was a good man) good man
song performed by by Third Eye Blind
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have written a few children's books. The first book that I wrote was for children. It was called ""The Package"", and it was a mystery story in pictures. It had no words.
quote by Laurie Anderson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inversion in maturity.
The middle age in man is
When the broad mind and
The narrow pit exchange places.
The middle age in woman is
When the fragile limbs and
The rigid heart exchange places.
15.04.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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You want a story? Read 'Gone With the Wind'. These aren't stories. They're joke books. The whole thing of a beginning, a middle and an end has been done to death.
quote by Brian P. Cleary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have written 20 books, and each one is like having a baby. Writing is not easy; some people want to write books but just can't put a story together. I can put together a story that interests both me and my readers.
quote by Jackie Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Murder Story
You say to me things should soon be alright
I get so scared if I dont get out at night
The questions real
The answer so false
I just cant cope no more with this rate of pulse
I lost my past
I gave it away
I feel so insecure
I couldnt take another day
Please be kind
Dont call me no wreck
My nerves are very live you know
But soon theyre going to break
No oh no
Another murder story
No oh no
Another murder story
So dont come too close
I cant stand the heat
I get nightmares of places people go to meet
Its so apparent when I walk in the door
That Im all alone
Theres no one home and no one wants me anymore
So claustrophobic if I stand I one place
This state of mind Im in is positively quite a disgrace
The children from the street call out my name
Hey you
Its all so mutual but you know
I just dont want to share no fame
No oh no
Another murder story
No oh no
Another murder story
No oh no
Murder story
No oh no
No oh no
Lyrics : j kerr music : burchill/kerr (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Home
How do I find my way back?
I've strayed too far from home.
I've gone so many places
for so many days.
I've even been to Rome.
I have seen so many sights now.
It seems to me that somehow
that every place I've ever seen
were places in-between
from the place that is my home.
My search for brand new places
and all those other places
never filled the gap
as I crossed the map,
so far from my sweet home.
For I missed the landscape,
the place that I grew up in.
The old familiar faces
were not in the places I've been.
And now I must retrace my steps.
I've searched this world all over.
Too long I've been a rover.
I'll take a trip on back
for I'm on the wrong track.
I wonder what I'll find at my home?
Nothing seems the same now.
Familiarity has changed somehow,
except for the peace I feel around me.
'Cause in my memory I still can see
the place that is my home.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Seekers! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Wandering aimlessly
At twilight on the beach,
When the fishermen go home
After a day’s catch
To the market place.
And children
Too joyfully,
After playing ball
And gathering sea shells.
The moon is covered
By the clouds,
Stars
Are invisible
To the eye.
Sea seemed to beckon;
Could it be…?
It too was lonely
Wanted to share
Desert places
With me?
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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My mother used to take my brother and me to get any books we wanted, but they were second hand books published in the '30s and '40s. I liked scary books.
quote by Alejandro Amenabar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Storyteller's Word
In a decent book, I can lose myself,
For, at least, a good couple of hours.
A well told story, for young or old,
My mind will quite hungrily devour.
I’ve always loved a real page turner:
A story, which, is totally compelling.
Sometimes, there’s a story, true or invented,
Which, simply, deserves, and needs telling.
Sometimes, a person in a book,
To me, can feel like a true friend;
You share their life and adventures,
And feel rather sad, when it all ends.
A story can stir up a mixture of emotions:
I’ve cried tears, and gasped with surprise.
I’ve found myself completely captivated,
As a story unfolds before my very eyes.
A good story, has the ability to transport you,
To different places, and to different times.
You just never know where you may end up,
When you sit and read those immortal lines.
Stories should never be kept locked away:
With others, they should be readily shared.
There is no other past-time, known to man,
With which, reading a book, can quite compare.
Whether a story is based on a person’s life,
Or whether, it has been quite purely invented,
A story can make such an impact upon you,
That, forever, in your memory, it is cemented.
I’ve always adored a really well written story,
Regardless of, by whom, or when, it was written.
Snuggled up, with a book held in your hands,
It is so easy, to become completely smitten.
A story can make you lose all track of time,
When, in a book, you are totally immersed.
I love reading a story, and really drinking it in;
For reading books, I’ve developed a real thirst.
There are many stories, the world over,
Which, are still waiting to be heard.
Nothing on earth, is quite so powerful,
As the power of the storyteller’s word.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
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War Vets Dream
When he came from Nam he had a plan
That not many people would understand.
To help children see that not all in life
Was destruction and poverty.
With death and bombings all around
All he could hear was the children s sounds.
With tears in their eyes and not understanding why
Why so many bodies on the ground
And not a one making a sound.
All he could see was these faces of despair
Children did not understand and could not care.
These visions of the war would
always stay in his mind
From that day forward till the end of time.
He vowed that he would do all that he can
To help all children and his fellow man.
When you see the ravages of war
And a country torn apart
And its people scattered
Then staying alive is all that matters.
He knew that he could not stop this genocide
But he knew for the future children he had to try.
He wanted to create a place called “children s world”
A safe haven for every boy and girl.
A place where children could be children
And war they would not see.
Where they could be with friends and their families.
A place with a roof over their heads
Hot food and a bed.
He knows with time this dream will come true
“It just depends on people like you.”
poem by Louis Rams
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Everything Has A Story
Everything has a story to tell
if only they could speak.
The sky that looks down on us
and the earth that is beneath our feet.
The sea with its restlessness
and the buildings touching the sky.
Everything has a story of what it has seen.
What a wonderful enlightenment we would gain
if we could only talk to them.
We can observe them in our daily lives
and often sometimes wish
we could trade places with them.
We sometimes do in our imagination
whenever we let it roam free.
25 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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Mother Earth And Father Time Are Angry
Mother Earth and Father Time are walking hand in hand.
They're visiting their children and checking on their land.
They view the worlds destruction everywhere they turn.
They fear their precious children are never going to learn.
''This earth should be their playground with joys beyond belief
yet, all these children seem to know is senseless pain and grief.''
''How do we teach our children to care for such a place?
They may not get the message till we slap them in their face.''
The children are oblivious to even basic rules.
That's why so many people grow up looking like such fools.