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“You know I told the Lord, "Why can't I just move in healing and forget talking about all that other stuff." He said: " Because, Todd, you've got to get the people to believe in the angel". I said, "Why do I want people to believe in the angel. Isn't it about the people believing in Jesus?" He said, "The people already believe in Jesus but the church doesn't believe in the supernatural."”

“You know I understand how you feel.... the loneliness that sets in....how empty your heart aches wishing you had someone near....to hold... to kiss and love. That type of passion poets write about...that person your souls yearns yet can not find....that love that all time will lie down and be still for.... but at last it feels ever more like a cruel joke and fickle fate which has no plans of happiness....we drudge on with our existence trying to make sense of it....then slowly you feel the light dim....till it blows out. You've set yourself in complete darkness, with no direction, fully immersing yourself in confusion, doubt and suffer. Feeding your starving desires with delusions; completely disabling your inner mind from seeing the ugly truth beyond the shattered reality. You look at yourself through a contaminated mirror, seeing what you want to see from a certain angle, completely ignoring the faults and imperfections hidden under the surface. I petty the day that will wash your fickle images, scattering your true colors to yourself not more... As I see through what you choose to hide.”

“You know, I understand the way that some people view manual labor. With a kind of sneer, looking down your nose at it, like it’s less. But I’ve never found anything more satisfying than going out and making a change with my own two hands. Seeing a project through from start to finish, knowing that what I did…that it changed something. The shape of an object, the landscape. When you’re fighting fires, that your hands helped put up the blockade that preserved the wilderness. That you dug those trenches, ran those fire lines that saved houses, trees, animals. Lives. There’s no shame in it.”

“You know, I used to feel proud after every argument. I used to think winning a fight meant I was strong. I used to think being right all the time would make me happy. But now I understand… every time you try to prove someone close to you wrong, you don’t win respect, you lose it. You don’t become stronger, you just become someone others want to avoid. Because sometimes it's about losing the argument, but winning the relationship.”

“You know, I’ve been called a thief before. Growing up in Hackney, going to the markets with my mother—the shopkeepers always kept an eye on us, in case we pilfered anything. Because we looked Indian, and you could never tell with those wogs, could you? The number of times I was told I wasn’t welcome because I wasn’t really English, even though I’d been born in London, same as them. I thought the circus was going to be different. I thought you”—she looked at Catherine accusingly—“were going to be different. But you know what? Why don’t you just search my stuff. Go on. Whatever you’re missing, jewelry or money—you just go ahead and look for it!” She bent down and drew her suitcase out from under the seat, threw it on top, and opened it violently, so that dresses and scarves spilled out. She shook the contents directly onto the seat cushions, then scattered them about. “Here you go, that’s what you wanted, right? And if you find whatever you’re looking for, you can go ahead and put me in gaol, or whatever they have for gaol here in Austria. I’m going to feed the snakes—they need their lunch too. They may be poisonous, but they’ve never made me feel like dirt. It takes a human being to do that.”

“You know, I've thought an awful lot about this, and I think that people are much like those stars up there. Some burn faintly for millions of years, barely visible to us on earth. They're there, but you'd hardly know it. They blend in, like a speck on a canvas. But others blaze with such an intensity, they light up the sky. You can't help but notice them, marvel at them. Those are the ones that never last long. They can't. They use up all their energy quickly.”

“You know I wouldn’t want to meddle with your book,” he said. “You’ll know what’s best to put in it. But there's one last thing I want to say to the people of the world. If you would, put it at the very back of your book, so people will remember it most.” “I’ll be happy to do whatever you ask,” I said. “I know that, Alden, I know that,” Santa said. “You’re one of the fine people of the earth.” He didn't see my blush at his compliment; he was looking out at the snowy horizon. “Here’s what I want to say. At Christmastime, people suddenly turn loving and unselfish. They start to share with others, and they notice how happy it makes them. They give and give and don’t really expect anything in return. “Even nations get the Christmas spirit. More than once I’ve taken off on Christmas Eve a little worried about the guns and missiles I was sure to encounter—only to find that the warring countries had declared a Christmas truce.” He paused again, and we stopped walking. Santa grasped my arm and spoke more earnestly. “Tell the people that Christmas is the best time of the year—oh, they know that. But why can’t we make the whole year like that? Why can’t we be loving and sharing all year ‘round—even when others aren’t loving and sharing back? “Alden, you know me. I’m not a preachy guy. I’ve said my piece. But tell the people that, please. Please?” He stared at me for a moment, his eyes not wavering, and then he gave me a great big bear hug. “And tell all my kids they’re the greatest thing on Earth,” he whispered in my ear.”