Under each arm he carries an umbrella; one of them, with pictures on the inside, he spreads over the good children, and then they dream the most beau… - Hans Christian Andersen

Every man’s life is a fairytale written by God’s hand.

out-of-doors there was quite a snow-storm. “It is the white bees that are swarming,” said Kay’s old grandmother. “Do the white bees choose a queen?” asked the little boy; for he knew that the honey-bees always have one. “Yes,” said the grandmother, “she flies where the swarm hangs in the thickest clusters. She is the largest of all; and she can never remain quietly on the earth, but goes up again into the black clouds. Many a winter’s night she flies through the streets of the town, and peeps in at the windows; and they then freeze in so wondrous a manner that they look like flowers.

I can give her no greater power than she has already, said the woman; don't you see how strong that is? How men and animals are obliged to serve her, and how well she has got through the world, barefooted as she is. She cannot receive any power from me greater than she now has, which consists in her own purity and innocence of heart. If she cannot herself obtain access to the Snow Queen, and remove the glass fragments from little Kay, we can do nothing to help her.