The Most Difficult Thing To Read Is

They Are Enthusiasts, Devotees. Addicts. Something About The Circus Stirs Their Souls, And They Ache For It When It Is Absent. They Seek Each Other Out, These People Of Such Specific Like Mind. They Tell Of How They Found The Circus, How Those First Few Steps Were Like Magic. Like Stepping Into A Fairy Tale Under A Curtain Of Stars… When They Depart, They Shake Hands And Embrace Like Old Friends, Even If They Have Only Just Met, And As They Go Their Separate Ways They Feel Less Alone Than They Had Before.

Is It Not That Bad To Be Trapped Somewhere, Then? Depending On Where You're Trapped?" "i Suppose It Depends On How Much You Like The Place You're Trapped In," Widget Says. "and How Much You Like Whoever You're Stuck There With," Poppet Adds, Kicking His Black Boot With Her White One.

Chandresh Relishes Reactions. Genuine Reactions, Not Mere Polite Applause. He Often Values The Reactions Over The Show Itself. A Show Without An Audience Is Nothing, After All. In The Response Of The Audience, That Is Where The Power Of Performance Lives.

Celia, Wait,” Marco Says, Standing But Not Moving Closer To Her. “you Are Breaking My Heart. You Told Me Once That I Reminded You Of Your Father. That You Never Wanted To Suffer The Way Your Mother Did For Him, But You Are Doing Exactly That To Me. You Keep Leaving Me. You Leave Me Longing For You Again And Again When I Would Give Anything For You To Stay, And It Is Killing Me.” “it Has To Kill One Of Us,” Celia Says Quietly.

This Is, In Part, Why There Is Less Magic In The World Today. Magic Is Secret And Secrets Are Magic, After All, And Years Upon Years Of Teaching And Sharing Magic And Worse. Writing It Down In Fancy Books That Get All Dusty With Age Has Lessened It, Removed Its Power Bit By Bit.