Quotes About Wonder

And each night in bed I thought of her as the moon came through my window. I could have lowered my shade to make it darker and easier to sleep, but I never did. In that moonlit hour, I acquired a sense of the otherness of things. I liked the feeling the moonlight gave me, as if it wasn't the opposite of day, but its underside, its private side...

At this time in his life Zinkoff sees no difference between the stars in the sky and the stars in his mother's plastic Baggie. He believes that stars fall from the sky sometimes, and that his mother goes around collecting them like acorns. He believes she has to use heavy gloves and dark sunglasses because the fallen stars are so hot and shiny. She puts them in the freezer for forty-five minutes, and when they come out they are flat and silver and sticky on the back and ready for his shirts.

She had been utterly pleased with herself. "I runned away!" she chirped, and the sun was no match for her smile. And Zinkoff saw in that moment something that he had no words for. He saw that a kid runs to be found and jumps to be caught. That's what being a kid is: found, caught." (p. 185).

What she saw, she felt. Her eyes went straight to her heart. The old man on the bench, for example, made her cry. The lumberjack ants made her laugh. The door of many colours put her in such a snit of curiosity that i had to drag her away;she felt she could not proceed with her life until she knocked on such a door.

So he does what a kid has to do: He smells the cedar chest in his parents' bedroom, he decapitates dandelions, seesaws at the park, licks the mixing bowl, rides his bike, counts railroad cars, holds his breath, clucks his tongue, tastes tofu, touches moss, daydreams, looks back, looks ahead, wishes, wonders… and before he knows it, miraculously, the summer is over." (p. 163).

She taught me to revel She taught me to wonder. She taught me to laugh

I saw a little girl in a wooden wagon, her dress spilling colors over its sides, staring at the rising sun as if it were the very dawn of creation.

Did you ever see a little kid's face when he spots a penny on a sidewalk?

Enchanted places cannot be created, they can only be discovered.

A full moon falling on the snow lit up the world - who needed electricity?

Do you believe in enchanted places?" He took the pipe from his mouth and looked straight at me. "Absolutely." I was confused. "But you're a scientist. A man of science." "A man of bones. You can't be up to your eyeballs in bones and not believe in enchanted places." (p. 101)

He wonders if Claudia is making snow angels. He wonders if angles are invisible in the snow. He wonders if angels make people in the snow. He wonders of Claudia is an angel…" (p. 191)

Was this really happening? Did my stepfather really drag me out of bed at 7:00 in the morning on my summer vacation so I could stand in the kitchen in my underpants and stare down a row of chicken bones?

the moon's incurious eye.

They have no idea if the paintings have faded away, or have been spray-painted with graffiti, or if the bunker still exists – or, for that matter, if it ever existed at all – but they are young and the trail is wide and Easily traveled. And even if they don't find what they're looking for, isn't it enough to be out walking together in the sunlight?

Who could believe that in such overwhelming beauty exists such fragility?

We live in a world of banal miracles.

He looks up at her, and behind her, at the sky, which holds more stars than he ever has seen at one time, crowded together, a mess of dust and gems.

She was like that, excited and delighted by little things, crossing her fingers before any remotely unpredictable event, like tasting a new flavor of ice cream, or dropping a letter in a mailbox. It was a quality he did not understand. It made him feel stupid, as if the world contained hidden wonders he could not anticipate, or see.

To Travel without moving an inch.

In the face of everything that seems to me unattainable, I marvel. Without a sense of marvel at things, without wonder, one can't create anything.

Without a sense of marvel at things, without wonder, one can't create anything. If everything were possible, what would be the meaning, the point of life?

there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination.

She was like that, excited and delighted by little things, crossing her fingers before any remotely unpredictable event, like tasting a new flavor of ice cream, or dropping a letter in a mailbox. It was a quality he did not understand. It made him feel stupid, as if the world contained hidden wonders he could not anticipate, or see. He