Never Judge A Book By Its Cover Ruth

Often at that time of year, you could hear skylarks over fields. Soldiers remarked how strange it was that the birds should be there, but in fact the birds had been there for centuries. The really strange thing was that the soldiers were there. Another thing that people thought odd was that the skylarks sang in the language of their homes. In English for the English, in French for the French, and in Dutch for the Dutch. More puzzling still, on the other side of the trenches, a few miles away, the skylarks were singing in German. It was a war where absolutely nothing made sense.

It would be wrong, a lie to say that Joseph had never felt pain like it. He’d felt it years ago, as sharp and debilitating as it was now. But for a long time since he’d denied it’s existence, buried and smothered it with only one thing he could find that would hold it in place and out of sight: anger.

“It’ll be dangerous,” Nyssa warned him. “ Hardship, monsters, terrible suffering. Possibly none of you will come back alive.” “Oh.” Suddenly Leo didn’t look so excited. Then he remembered everyone was watching. “I mean…Oh, cool! I love suffering! Let’s do this”

‘Books can change minds and change worlds, open doors and open minds, and plant seeds that can grow into magical or even terrifying things. Stories are things to be loved and respected at the same time; never underestimate the power of them.’

‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others,’ Napoleon said.

‘Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?’ Gandalf said.