Sublime

It is the proverbial trickster.

Those of the English who were then children owe to Hans Andersen more than to any of their own writers, that essential educational emotion which feels that domesticity is not dull but rather fantastic; that sense of the fairyland of furniture, and the travel and adventure of the farmyard.

The story of the merrow who longed for the sea.

Ein schriller Schrei durchdrang die Empfangshalle und erregte meine Aufmerksamkeit. Ich drehte mich auf dem Absatz um und rutschte fast aus, als ein kleines Mädchen aus der Lodge stürmte und über die Schwelle sprang wie eine furchtlose Bergsteigerin.

“Jacket.”

There’s a passage from The Velveteen Rabbit which my sister asked me to read at her wedding. I thought I was up for the task—it’s a children’s book, for fuck’s sake—but when the time came, I cried all the way through: “Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time,

“Cry as much as you need to, darling,”