Not a book review

I just finished reading a book that, yet again, was brought home for my children, and, yet again, became mine. I intended to sit down and write a little review of this book. Because I liked it. But as I was composing my little review in my head, I came to realize that all I really wanted to do was share a quote from the book. Just one. Because her words are better than mine. So, here it is. It's a little melancholy, but then again, recently, so am I.

Looking out over the city, Peter decided that it was a terrible and complicated thing to hope, and that it might be easier, instead, to despair.

The Magician's Elephant
by Kate DiCamillo

This is the reason that I read. Because I, myself, am so limited in my own ability to express, or even to understand, the hidden inner workings of my own fragile heart. This is why I read. Because it consoles the heart to discover that another has articulated for me the very thought, emotion, desire, that my own utterance is too weak to convey. This is the reason that I read. Because my soul is moved by the quiet power of language. Because I admire and appreciate those with both the ability and the desire to construct it into a thing of beauty and of meaning and of weight.

They are just words. It is just a story. But in the hands of the gifted few, the words become potent, full of impact and of recognition and of healing.

This is why I read. What about you?