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“The books we enjoy as children stay with us forever -- they have a special impact. Paragraph after paragraph and page after page, the author must deliver his or her best work.”
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“I remember as a child of eight being told by a young friend that I had killed Christ. That was news to me. It's a common experience for the Jewish young. Should later generations of Germans be burdened with the guilt arising from the profound inhumanity of their ancestors? Revenge may be sweet, but guilt is non-transferable. Still, hatreds survive with the persistence of cockroaches.”
― The Entertainer and the Dybbuk
― The Entertainer and the Dybbuk
“Joy was not the raw material of humor . . . The dark source was sorrow.”
― The Trouble Begins at 8: A Life of Mark Twain in the Wild, Wild West – An Illustrated Biography for Kids (Ages 8-12) About the Rebel Who Created Tom Sawyer
― The Trouble Begins at 8: A Life of Mark Twain in the Wild, Wild West – An Illustrated Biography for Kids (Ages 8-12) About the Rebel Who Created Tom Sawyer
“I don't see any reason to let law interfere with justice around here. We never did before.”
― By the Great Horn Spoon!
― By the Great Horn Spoon!
“What was he looking for, a prince in fine velvets and a crown cocked on his head? Was it clothes that made a prince, Jemmy wondered, just as rags made a street boy?”
― The Whipping Boy
― The Whipping Boy
“Words were a conjuration, and their charms had begun to bewitch him.”
― The Trouble Begins at 8: A Life of Mark Twain in the Wild, Wild West – An Illustrated Biography for Kids (Ages 8-12) About the Rebel Who Created Tom Sawyer
― The Trouble Begins at 8: A Life of Mark Twain in the Wild, Wild West – An Illustrated Biography for Kids (Ages 8-12) About the Rebel Who Created Tom Sawyer
“Jemmy dipped the quill in beet juice and continued scribbling. "I'll tell him you've got reserved seats in Hell."
"Aye! That's the ticket!”
― The Whipping Boy
"Aye! That's the ticket!”
― The Whipping Boy
“I am Prince Horace!"
"And I'm the Grand Turnip of China!" cutwater snickered.
"Dim-witted villains!" shouted the Prince. "I command you to turn us loose.”
― The Whipping Boy
"And I'm the Grand Turnip of China!" cutwater snickered.
"Dim-witted villains!" shouted the Prince. "I command you to turn us loose.”
― The Whipping Boy
“Sir!" he called out. "The Great Chaffalo! My name's Touch, and I brought a bundle of straw. I'd be much obliged if you'd turn it into a horse."
Nearby, the tall weeds rasped a little in the breeze. But that was all.
He picked up the straw and hurried past broken windows to the rear of the house.
"You there, Mr. Chaffalo? It's me, Touch, and I'm in a dreadful hurry. My great-uncle aims to cart me off to the orphan house, but that don't take my fancy. I ain't asking for a fine, high-stepping horse, sir. Just any four legs'll do, as long as one ain't lame. I'd be proper grateful, Mr. Great Chaffalo."
Undiscouraged, Touch moved his bundle of straw back to the front of the house to try again. And he noticed the rocking chair was pitching as if someone had just got up.
Touch's hair went stiff as needles. But he was determined not to be scared off. He caught his breath.
"If you were dozing, I don't mean to rile you up, sir. Maybe you heard of my great-uncle. Judge Wigglesforth? Crosscut saws don't come any meaner. I know I don't amount to much, for a boy, but I'm not shifty-eyed, the way he says. I hope you can see that, Great Chaffalo."
Suddenly, Touch thought he could feel a pair of eyes watching him. The eyes in the poster! he thought. His hopes took a leap.
"I aim to ride through the woods until I'm long out of reach, sir. He won't know where to look. I'll thank you everlastingly if you'll oblige me with a horse."
A snarl burst out of the tall weeds. It wasn't a horse. It was a scruffy wild dog, its teeth looking like rusty nails. And it was coming straight for Touch.
Touch began to shinny up a porch column, but he knew that hound was going to get its rusty teeth into his leg. Then he heard a snap of fingers and a voice in the air.
"Hey! Hey!"
The bundle of straw changed into a horse.”
― The Midnight Horse
Nearby, the tall weeds rasped a little in the breeze. But that was all.
He picked up the straw and hurried past broken windows to the rear of the house.
"You there, Mr. Chaffalo? It's me, Touch, and I'm in a dreadful hurry. My great-uncle aims to cart me off to the orphan house, but that don't take my fancy. I ain't asking for a fine, high-stepping horse, sir. Just any four legs'll do, as long as one ain't lame. I'd be proper grateful, Mr. Great Chaffalo."
Undiscouraged, Touch moved his bundle of straw back to the front of the house to try again. And he noticed the rocking chair was pitching as if someone had just got up.
Touch's hair went stiff as needles. But he was determined not to be scared off. He caught his breath.
"If you were dozing, I don't mean to rile you up, sir. Maybe you heard of my great-uncle. Judge Wigglesforth? Crosscut saws don't come any meaner. I know I don't amount to much, for a boy, but I'm not shifty-eyed, the way he says. I hope you can see that, Great Chaffalo."
Suddenly, Touch thought he could feel a pair of eyes watching him. The eyes in the poster! he thought. His hopes took a leap.
"I aim to ride through the woods until I'm long out of reach, sir. He won't know where to look. I'll thank you everlastingly if you'll oblige me with a horse."
A snarl burst out of the tall weeds. It wasn't a horse. It was a scruffy wild dog, its teeth looking like rusty nails. And it was coming straight for Touch.
Touch began to shinny up a porch column, but he knew that hound was going to get its rusty teeth into his leg. Then he heard a snap of fingers and a voice in the air.
"Hey! Hey!"
The bundle of straw changed into a horse.”
― The Midnight Horse
“Glancing back over his shoulder seemed to be habit, for Touch had noticed him do it before, as if the man thought someone might be following him.
"Stranger, what did you say your name was?" asked the blacksmith.
"I didn't," answered the thief. In fact, he had, but he changed his name more often than his stockings, and now he couldn't remember what name he'd bestowed upon himself.”
― The Midnight Horse
"Stranger, what did you say your name was?" asked the blacksmith.
"I didn't," answered the thief. In fact, he had, but he changed his name more often than his stockings, and now he couldn't remember what name he'd bestowed upon himself.”
― The Midnight Horse
“am?" "A clod and a ruffian," declared the prince.”
― The Whipping Boy
― The Whipping Boy
“He peered through a broken window and saw a face. The face of The Great Chaffalo.
“You saved me, for certain,” declared Touch, his heart still banging away. “I’m mighty grateful, sir. And thankful for the horse.”
For the first time Touch looked down at the high-legged stallion under him. It was a bay with a golden mane and a hide as fine as China silk.
“More’n I reckoned for, sir!” Touch exclaimed. “A plow horse would have done me fine. This must be the prettiest horse this side of sunset.”
“It is,” agreed The Great Chaffalo with an air of pride. “Although I might have done a tad better with the tail. I’m somewhat out of practice.”
Touch felt bedazzled. “I can’t imagine how you do it, sir!”
“A bit of straw and a touch of midnight,” remarked The Great Chaffalo with a lofty smile. “It was a secret passed on to me by a Hey Hey Man in the Black Forest. A fellow trickster.”
And Touch said, “I was in the coach early this morning when you jumped on the roof.”
“I do like to kick up my heels, now and then. Did I frighten you?”
“No, sir. Not exactly. I was almighty curious, though. I’d never seen a haunt before.”
“A haunt! I’ve never haunted anything. I regard that as slander. Do I look like a frail wisp of smoke?”
“No, sir,” replied Touch quickly. “You look big as life.”
“Bigger!” declared The Great Chaffalo, with a sharp lift of one eyebrow.
“Of course, sir,” said Touch, becoming a little nervous.
The magician kept piercing him with his black poster eyes. “You must swear not to tell anyone how you came by this horse,” said the Great Chaffalo. “I don’t want every farm boy turning up with a bundle of straw.”
“I swear it, sir.”
“Ride on, Touch.”
And with a snap of his long fingers, The Great Chaffalo was gone.”
― The Midnight Horse
“You saved me, for certain,” declared Touch, his heart still banging away. “I’m mighty grateful, sir. And thankful for the horse.”
For the first time Touch looked down at the high-legged stallion under him. It was a bay with a golden mane and a hide as fine as China silk.
“More’n I reckoned for, sir!” Touch exclaimed. “A plow horse would have done me fine. This must be the prettiest horse this side of sunset.”
“It is,” agreed The Great Chaffalo with an air of pride. “Although I might have done a tad better with the tail. I’m somewhat out of practice.”
Touch felt bedazzled. “I can’t imagine how you do it, sir!”
“A bit of straw and a touch of midnight,” remarked The Great Chaffalo with a lofty smile. “It was a secret passed on to me by a Hey Hey Man in the Black Forest. A fellow trickster.”
And Touch said, “I was in the coach early this morning when you jumped on the roof.”
“I do like to kick up my heels, now and then. Did I frighten you?”
“No, sir. Not exactly. I was almighty curious, though. I’d never seen a haunt before.”
“A haunt! I’ve never haunted anything. I regard that as slander. Do I look like a frail wisp of smoke?”
“No, sir,” replied Touch quickly. “You look big as life.”
“Bigger!” declared The Great Chaffalo, with a sharp lift of one eyebrow.
“Of course, sir,” said Touch, becoming a little nervous.
The magician kept piercing him with his black poster eyes. “You must swear not to tell anyone how you came by this horse,” said the Great Chaffalo. “I don’t want every farm boy turning up with a bundle of straw.”
“I swear it, sir.”
“Ride on, Touch.”
And with a snap of his long fingers, The Great Chaffalo was gone.”
― The Midnight Horse
