richelle-goodrich

One of the most critical decisions made in life is choosing with whom to spend your time. For it is those close relationships that gradually mold our character until we become a reflection of the company we keep.

Dogs are loyal friends, and if they could talk, your secrets would still be safe. (If my cat could talk, I__ have to let the dog eat her.)

I wish everyone had someone who never popped their balloons.

Friends are the artists who paint happy lips on your face.

Be someone__ security blanket when theirs is in the wash.

To obtain wealth beyond measure, seek to make more friends than money.

Heaven's currency is friendship.

Employing your imagination is the first step to the fulfillment of any dream.

I live in two unique worlds, traveling between both with just the opening or closing of my eyes.

Daydream. Because you can't accomplish what you've never fully imagined.

The magic of reading happens when an author__ written work strings you along until your imagination, aware of your wants, molds the tale into an extraordinary world to be visited frequently__erhaps dwelt in for years.

If there weren__ so many interesting conversations taking place inside my head, I might venture to speak out loud.

If you ever expect to write fairytales, you've got to get your head in the clouds.

An inexhaustible imagination is the fountain of youth.

What if stars were the glimmering tears of a giant, welling in his cheeks, waiting to fall at the first tender stroke of emotion? What if the moon were a wide-open eye gazing down on our tiny, little world and its tiny, little inhabitants as they rush to and fro in pursuit of tiny, little dreams? What if the sun were the glowing heart of a great beast, pumping hot blood to keep him alive while providing warmth for our pitiful world? Ahhh, imagination; it is a wondrous thing!

My favorite words in the world are t

WRITER'S NIGHTMARE""I felt a grip on my arm that shook my body, forcefully pulling me toward a tunnel of darkness. _ The threat of consciousness stole my steady breath. For a moment I believed myself to be under siege; ripped from the sky in mid flight, my wings useless against the monstrous claws shredding my reality. I struggled to remain, to be left alone, aloft. _Reaching with wings that through the power of imagination were suddenly feathered arms, I grabbed at the air. _My hands clutched at something solid. _Wooden. _A desk. _My head spun as I held the furniture, suffering the illusion of falling. _"I was flying," I gasped, realizing suddenly that it had all been a dream. "My best fantasy ever." Lifting my head from its resting spot on the writing desk, I worked mentally to secure the fading images, hoping to capture their essence to memory before they faded away forever. _Bitterness tainted my heart against the hand that had jerked me into sensibility. _Why was I always so callously awakened while doing my best work? _Why not let me dream?

Truly, there is magic in fairy