A Wrinkle in Time

It was simply a book I had to write. I had no choice. And it was only after it was written that I realized what some of it meant.

This is the limited universe, the drying, dissipating universe that we can help our children avoid by providing them with “explosive material capable of stirring up fresh life endlessly

I don’t think I want anybody else to see what gorgeous eyes you have.”

“I am here to report that one of my letters is jamming, and until it can be properly oiled by an F Grade oiler there is danger of jammed minds.”
“Strawberry jam or raspberry?”

with an honours degree

“I don’t want him to grow up to be dumb like me,” Meg had said.

“Don’t you know you’re the nicest thing that’s happened to me in a long time?”

“You mean you’re comparing our lives to a sonnet? A strict form, but freedom within it?”
“Yes.” Mrs Whatsit said. “You’re given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you.”

But you see, Meg, just because we don’t understand doesn’t mean that the explanation doesn’t exist.

“Only a fool is not afraid,”