Deep in the brush filth above the north pasture a rabbit gave the shrill death cry before the soft owl fell from the moon, and she thought: 'Deed, it… - Davis Grubb

Ming Hang Hung! the words rang faintly through his daydream like echoes of Miz Cunningham's tart little doorbell. Then he looked again at the old woman herself. Why, she was really quite wonderful—this old fat woman! In the end, she got her hands on nearly everything in the world! Just look at her window! There by the pair of old overshoes were Jamey Hankins' ice skates. There was old Walt Spoon's elk's tooth. There—his mother's own wedding ring! There was a world in the window of this remarkable old woman. And it was probable that when Miz Cunningham like an ancient barn owl fluttered and flapped to earth at last, they would take her away and pluck her open and find her belly lined with fur and feathers and the tiny mice skulls of myriad dreams.

Is goodness just for Sundays and is love just for Christmas? Must the living fragrance of human love be packed away with the tree ornaments once Christmas day is past?

The mirror’s Magic—that mirror—the one he gave me—because it tells me the sweetest lies about myself! I’ve looked into it time and time again since then—by daylight—by lamplight—by moon and starshine—and each time that dear little mirror says: Jewel Luchak, you’re the prettiest girl in twelve green counties! Mayra smiled and thought silently to herself: Couldn't it be, my child, that the Magic's not in the mirror at all? Couldn't it be that it's having someone love you is making you prettier all the time?