We simply relegate the child within us to some place where it will not interrupt adulthood. But do we not realize that it is the act of doing that that interrupts adulthood?

Be absolutely assured that we will die long before our own deaths if we ever allow the fear of adulthood to kill the wonder of childhood.

A father knows that the voice of a child singing is nothing less than the heart of a father that lost its voice. And so, rather than write such singing off to the ignorance of childhood muse, the wise father learns to sing again.

All too soon the garden of childhood is paved cold with the asphalt roads of adulthood. And while it is not within her power to halt this unrelenting progression, a mother can diligently guard this most precious garden and insure that the roads become gentle paths that wind through it instead of byways that kill it.