William Steig

The world was all magic, and he had a special bottle of it in his right hand.

Why had he wanted to be rich, or to feel rich? Was he an unhappy mouse before? Didn't he see the King himself often looking sad? Was anyone completely happy?

He was able to love them again, but he loved them now in a wiser way, knowing their weakness.

Rain caused one to reflect on the shadowed, more poignant parts of life__he inescapable sorrows, the speechless longings, the disappointments, the regrets, the cold miseries. It also allowed one the leisure to ponder questions unasked in the bustle of brighter days; and if one were snug under a sound roof, as Abel was, one felt somehow mothered, though mothers were nowhere around, and absolved of responsibilities.

I wish I were a rock,' he said, and he became a rock.

Oh, Life, I am yours. Whatever it is you want of me, I am ready to give.

He began to develop an obstinate patience.

Why did the world go on being so beautiful in spite of the ugliness he had experienced? The lake was beautiful, serenely beautiful. The forest was beautiful, greenly beautiful. Lake and forest, the whole shimmering world was painfully beautiful. He loved this world, but he was too hurt to enjoy it.

The stubbornness of his character stood him now in good stead. He refused to consider himself defeated.