Stories were different, though: they came alive in the telling. Without a human voice to read them aloud, or a pair of wide eyes following them by flashlight beneath a blanket, they had no real existence in our world. They were like seeds in the beak of a bird, waiting to fall to earth… John Connolly, The Book of Lost Things Thursday Dec 22 @ 01:36am 11 notes
tagged as: JOHN CONNOLLY. THE BOOK OF LOST THINGS.
reblogged from mystgalaxyrb
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