Thingumy and Bob sighed contentedly and settled down to contemplate the precious stone. They stared in silent rapture at it.The ruby changed colour all the time. At first it was quite pale, and then suddenly a pink glow would flow over it like sunrise on a snow capped mountain -- and then again crimson flames shot out of its heart and it seemed like a great black tulip with stamens on fire.

Thingumy whispered something again. The Hemulen nodded. "It's a secret," he said. "Thingumy and Bob think the Contents is the most beautiful thing in the world, but the Groke just thinks it's the most expensive."The Snork nodded many times and wrinkled his forehead. "This is a difficult case," he said. Thingumy and Bob have reasoned correctly, but they have acted wrongly. Right is right.

But he thought all the strange words were beautiful, and he had never had a book of his own before.

I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know. Twilight is the border between day and night, and the shore is the border between sea and land. The border is longing: when both have fallen in love but still haven't said anything. The border is to be on the way. It is the way that is the most important thing.