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“In every little boy child is hidden a great man; in every little girl child is hidden as great woman. God hides great things in little things and it takes the Holy Spirit of God get them unveil!”
― Israelmore Ayivor, Leaders' Watchwords

“I went to grab the perfect shade of green and realized I didn’t have it. How could bamboo be colored with primary green? I blew out a frustrated breath and looked back into the box.

Rand was crouched beside me, his hand resting gently on my back. His touch was light but also strong and reassuring. I couldn’t help but lean into him, even if I swore to myself I wasn’t. “What’s wrong?�

“This green isn’t right for the bamboo.� Because that was the most normal sentence I’d ever uttered.

“What about these colors?� he pulled out a pink crayon, then a blue, and finally a purple.

“Bamboo is green! But it isn’t primary green.�

To his credit, Rand didn’t look at me like I had four heads. But then again, he picked up the blue crayon and handed it to me. “I think blue and pink and purple bamboo would be perfect.�

My mouth hung open, and I tried to argue. “No! No, it’s not.�

Rand rubbed his hand over my head. “Kyle, it’s coloring in a children’s coloring book. You aren’t entering this into an art contest. It can be blue and purple and yellow and orange if you want it to be. It can be out of the lines, it can be scribbles on the page. You aren’t trying to imitate life right now. You’re coloring a picture that I can hang on the fridge and we can smile at.�

“The fridge?�

“I’m going to take the green away completely if you keep worrying about it.�

I gasped in horror. “You wouldn’t!� I needed the green.

Rand raised an eyebrow at me, asking me if I wanted to push it. I shut my mouth quickly and picked up the light-blue color he was holding out to me. Could bamboo really be light blue? I bit my lip as I put the blue to the paper and colored the first few lines in smooth up and down motions.

“It’s going to be beautiful,â€� Rand gushed. He was over exaggerating, but I felt myself swell with pride.”
― Carly Marie, Untamed

“Once a little boy went to school.
One morning, when the little boy had been in school a while, his teacher said:
“Today we are going to make a picture.�
“Good!� thought the little boy. He liked to make pictures. He could make all kinds. Lions and tigers,
Chickens and cows, trains and boats, and he took out his box of crayons and began to draw.
But the teacher said: “Wait! It is not time to begin!�
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
“Now,� said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.�
“Good!� thought the little boy, he liked to make flowers, and he began to make beautiful ones with his
pink and orange and blue crayons.
But the teacher said “Wait! And I will show you how.� And it was red with a green stem.
“There,� said the teacher, “Now you may begin.�
The little boy looked at the teacher’s.
Then he looked at this own flower.
He liked his flower better than the teacher’s. But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over.
And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red with a green stem.
On another day, when the little boy had opened the door from the outside all by himself, the teacher
said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.�
“Good!� thought the little boy. Snakes and snowmen, elephants and mice, cars, and trucks, and he
began to pull and pinch his ball of clay.
But the teacher said: “Wait!� It is not time to begin!� And she waited until everyone looked ready.
“Now,� said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.�
He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some that were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said, “Wait! And I will show you how.� And she showed everyone how to make a deep
dish. “There,� said the teacher. “Now you may begin.�
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish, then he looked at his own. He liked his dish better than the
teacher’s. But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again. And made a dish like the
teacher’s. It was a deep dish.
And pretty soon the little boy learned to wait, and to watch and to make things just like the teacher. And
pretty soon he didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened that the little boy and his family moved to another house, in another city, and the
little boy had to go to another school.
And the very first day he was there the teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.�
“Good!� Thought the little boy and he waited for the teacher to tell him what to do.
But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy she said, “Don’t you want to make a picture?�
“Yes,� said the little boy.
“What are we going to make?�
“I don’t know until you make it,� said the teacher.
“How shall I make it?� asked the little boy.
“Why, any way you like,� said the teacher.
“Any color?� asked the little boy.
“Any color,� said the teacher.
“If everyone made the same picture, and the used the same colors, how would I know who made
·É³ó²¹³Ù?â€�
“I don’t know,� said the little boy.
And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.”
― Helen E. Buckley

“The little boy who never grew up,
He trapped the frog and kills the rat,
He flew a kite, the little boy who never grew up,
He found a dream and took it home
The little boy who never grew up,
He planted his dream deep in his heart,
The little boy who never grew up,
He watered his dream, wishing his dream to bloom,
The little boy who never grew up,
The dream died, the dream drowned,
The little boy who never grew up,
Watered his dream too much,
His dream died, the little boy cried,
The little boy who never grew up
His dream was dead; he wanted the same,
The little boy who never grew up,
He wishes his dream could take him away.”
― Quetzal

“Did you come to see my father?"
"No, I... came to call on Miss Hathaway."
"Are you one of her suitors?"
Christopher gave a decisive shake of his head.
"You might be one," the boy said wisely, "and just not know it yet."
Christopher felt a smile- his first genuine smile in a long time- pulling at his lips. "Does Miss Hathaway have many suitors?"
"Oh, yes. But none of them want to marry her."
"Why is that, do you imagine?"
"They don't want to get shot," the child said, shrugging.
"Pardon?" Christopher's brows lifted.
"Before you marry, you have to get shot by an arrow and fall in love," the boy explained. He paused thoughtfully. "But I don't think the rest of it hurts as much as the beginning."
Christopher couldn't prevent a grin.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Little boys can be very silly," Anastasia agreed. Her quiet hand stroked Lexi's head, untangling her hair. "But you know what, agapi mou? You shouldn't be scared. I think he's more afraid of you than you are of him." Lexi could feel her mother smiling. She liked her mother's smile. It took up her entire face, radiating from her lips to her dimples to the crinkles around her eyes. "He's new here, and I think he is a very lonely little boy. Do you know why he is mean? He doesn't know how to be nice.”
― Angela Panayotopulos, The Wake Up

“they never use to see me, I was invisible little boy.”
― Jordan Hoechlin

“He rants about the weakness of others even as he demonstrates his own, but he can never escape the fact that he is and always will be a terrified little boy.”
― Mary L. Trump, Too Much and Never Enough: How My Family Created the World's Most Dangerous Man

“Upon the bed sat a boy, pale as moonlight on new snow. I stopped short, for the creature was nothing like the changelings I have encountered before---ugly, spindly things to a one, with the brains of animals. The boy's long hair was bluish and translucent, and upon his skin was a glimmer like frost. He was beautiful, with an uncanny grace, his eyes sharp with intelligence.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“…Little Boy, was already considered primitive by the time Hersey wrote his 1946 story just months after the bomb’s detonation.”
― Lesley M.M. Blume, Fallout: The Hiroshima Cover-up and the Reporter Who Revealed It to the World