He wants to be grown-up. How different dreams can be! Nature will soon grant your wish.

Children are caterpillars and adults are butterflies. No butterfly ever remembers what it felt like being a caterpillar.

My children were all made from paper and printer's ink...

the sly smile hides the broken heart

Which of us has not felt that the character we are reading in the printed page is more real than the person standing beside us?

She wanted to return to her dream. Perhaps it was still somewhere there behind her closed eyelids. Perhaps a little of its happiness still clung like gold dust to her lashes. Don't dreams in fairy tales sometimes leave a token behind?