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“May life be kind to you, child, and when it is not, may you emerge stronger,” intones the sheikh.
The world would have been a much more interesting place if everyone was given a chance to meet their ancestors at least for an hour in their lifetime.
“Imagine.” Mr. Bradbury sighs. “All too often, we humans destroy nature and call it progress.”
Because people need songs like they need bread and water. People need poetry, beauty, love! So long as the sun rises and rivers flow, there will always be weddings and celebrations and music. Even fanatics cannot change that.”
“I know you don’t believe me, Narin, but a story is a flute through which truth breathes. And these are your family stories.”
The divisions that make up class are, in truth, the borders on a map. When you are born into wealth and privilege, you inherit a plan that outlines the paths ahead, indicating the shortcuts and byways available to reach your destination, informing you of the lush valleys where you may rest and the tricky terrain to avoid.
Yet Arthur is too young to understand that, in deciding what will be remembered, a museum, any museum, is also deciding, in part, what will be forgotten.
Remember, though, what defies comprehension isn’t the mysteries of the world, but the cruelties that humans are capable of inflicting upon each other.”
“When someone gives you the food they’ve prepared, they give you their heart.”
“Remember, for all its pains and sorrows, the world is beautiful.
Home is where your absence is felt, the echo of your voice kept alive, no matter how long you have been away or how far you may have strayed, a place that still beats with the pulse of your heart.
But Arthur is convinced that everyone has a gift. Given a chance and a modicum of support, anyone can elevate their skill. In the end, perhaps what separates one individual from another is not talent but passion. And what is passion if not a restlessness of the heart, an intense yearning to surpass your limits, like a river overflowing its banks?
