“If there is a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, you must be the one to write it.” ―Toni Morrison
She zapped the time-lock, gave the door a pull and escaped into a corridor carpeted with forget-me-nots, where a matador in lime socks lay upon a red cape, and a bull calf with a green horn napped.
“Some stories are true that never happened.”
She cried Olé! and spiraled to a higher level, nearly tripped over a ripped bodice on the way, and slipped on a matador’s red hatband, landing on a writhing pile of runaway bestsellers.
“Books are alive, you see. They’re not dead, they’re alive.”
Dazed, her horned headdress askew and bodice torn, she spread her wings and whiled in a field of typography, amazed by the autobiography of a goddess named Isis, while a matador gazed enticed at iconography, and a greenhorn bull calf with a corn-fed heifer grazed.
“Children know perfectly well that unicorns aren’t real, but they also know that books about unicorns, if they are good books, are true books.”
―Ursula K. LeGuin
And so, through time’s unlocked door, we escape into a corridor alive with books for all ages, hear poetry rolled off the tongues of sages, and dwell a spell to smell the flowers that unfold between the pages.
“I can find my biography in every fable that I read.”
―Ralph Waldo Emerson