*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:SNOWY~·~ﾟ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

“Cassie stood there, blinking back tears. Now what? She was all alone and had no idea where to go.”
― Tamara Hart Heiner, Episode 1: The New Girl: The Extraordinarily Ordinary Life of Cassandra Jones

“Flags were everywhere, and in the Square the band was playing “Yankee Doodle.” The fifes tooted and the flutes shrilled and the drums came in with rub-a-dub-dub. Yankee Doodle went to town, Riding on a pony, He stuck a feather in his hat And called it macaroni!”
― Laura Ingalls Wilder, Farmer Boy: Little House on the Prairie #2

“SEPTEMBER Tuesday Right off the bat, let’s clear something up: Why are YOU reading my journal? Are you some sort of weirdo who sneaks into kids’ rooms and goes through their personal stuff, like a nosey parent? A journal is private. Put this down right now and walk away. Oh, I see. You found this book online. Even though it’s supposed to be private, I guess I INVITED you to read it. That makes ME the weirdo, not you. I admit it. I’m an EXHIBITIONIST.* I actually want you to stick your nose into my personal stuff. So this really isn’t a journal at all. It’s more like a memoir. * Don’t be LAZY. If you don’t know what a word means, first try to figure it out by seeing how the word works in the sentence around it. If you can’t figure it out, look it up in a dictionary.”
― Jest Ninney, Journal of a Sneaky Twerp: A Shameless Wimpy Kid Parody

“The streets were mine, the temple was mine, the people were mine, their clothes and gold and silver were mine, as much as their sparkling eyes, their skins and ruddy faces. The skies were mine, and so were the sun and moon and stars; and all the world was mine, and I the only spectator and enjoyer of it.... But little did the infant dream That all the treasures of the world were by; And that himself was so the cream And crown of all which round about did lie. Yet thus it was: the Gem, The Diadem, The ring enclosing all That stood upon this earthly ball, The heavenly Eye, Much wider than the sky Wherein they all included were, The glorious soul that was the King,”
― Arthur Quiller-Couch, Poetry