“Here dies another dayDuring which I have had eyes, ears, hands And the great world round me;And with tomorrow begins another. Why am I allowed two?”

“I am [in your world].’ said Aslan. ‘But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”

“I speak and speak,” Marco says, “but the listener retains only the words he is expecting. The description of the world to which you lend a benevolent ear is one thing; the description that will go the rounds of the groups of stevedores and gondoliers on the street outside my house the day of my return is another; and yet another, that which I might dictate late in life, if I were taken prisoner by Genoese pirates and put in irons in the same cell with a writer of adventure stories. It is not the voice that commands the story: it is the ear.”

“Where did you wash? the boy thought. The village water supply was two streets down the road. I must have water here for him, the boy thought, and soap and a good towel. Why am I so thoughtless? I must get him another shirt and a jacket for the winter and some sort of shoes and another blanket.”

“I'm not fighting for justice. I am not fighting for freedom. I am fighting for my life and another day in the world here.”

“If I had a chance for another try,I wouldn't change a thingIt's made me all of who I am insideAnd if I could thank godThat I am here, and that I am aliveAnd everyday I wakeI tell myself a little harmless lieThe whole wide world is mine”