Princes And The Frog Quotes

You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince

I've kissed a prince, Mom. I hope it doesn't turn into a frog.

In fairy tales, the princesses kiss the frogs, and the frogs become princes. In real life, the pricesses kiss princes, and the princes turn into frogs.

I really feel that we're not giving children enough credit for distinguishing what's right and what's wrong. I, for one, devoured fairy tales as a little girl. I certainly didn't believe that kissing frogs would lead me to a prince, or that eating a mysterious apple would poison me, or that with the magical "Bibbity-Bobbity-Boo" I would get a beautiful dress and a pumpkin carriage. I also don't believe that looking in a mirror and saying "Candyman, Candyman, Candyman" will make some awful serial killer come after me. I believe that many children recognize Harry Potter for what it is, fantasy literature. I'm sure there will always be some that take it too far, but that's the case with everything. I believe it's much better to engage in dialog with children to explain the difference between fantasy and reality. Then they are better equipped to deal with people who might have taken it too far.

You don't always have to kiss a lot of frogs to recognize a prince when you find one -Henrietta Barett

Don’t cry, Princess. You know what they say. You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet your prince.

We are born princes and the civilizing process makes us frogs.

There's nothing deeper than love. In fairy tales, the princesses kiss the frogs, and the frogs become princes. In real life,the princesses kiss princes, and the princes turn into frogs.

And Poppy, remember that someday you will meet a frog who will turn into a handsome prince." "Good," Beatrix said. "Because all she's met so far are princes who turn into frogs." "Mr. Bayning is not a frog," Poppy protested. "You're right," Beatrix said. "That was very unfair to frogs, who are lovely creatures.

What we are tempted to call a disaster is sometimes the first, painful stage of a blessing.

Kissing the frog to get the prince is a waste of a perfectly good frog.

There are two kinds of women: those who marry princes and those who marry frogs. The frogs never become princes, but it is an acknowledged fact that a prince may very well, in the course of an ordinary marrige, gradually, at first almost imperceptibly, turn into a frog. Happy the woman who after twenty-five years still wakes up beside the prince she fell in love with.

Not a frog, I hope?” he asked…She shook her head. “No. And if it was I wouldn’t kiss it, I promise you. I might kiss a prince if I could be sure he’d turn into a frog, but not the other way around.

Finding a prince might mean kissing a lot of frogs. Or kicking a lot of frogs out of your house. Falling might mean running headfirst into something you always wanted. Or dipping your toe into something you've been scared of your whole life. Happily ever after could be waiting in a field a mile wide. Or a window as narrow as seven minutes.

It wasn't a kiss that changed the frog, but the fact that a young girl looked beneath warts and slime and believed she saw a prince. So he became one.

Kiss a frog with your eyes wide open. If he turns into a prince you won't miss the transformation, but if he doesn't, you won't be fooled by some wishful illusion in your head.

My momma used to say that a girl had to find her prince after wading through the frogs.

Darling, you know what they say. You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.

Puddleglum,' they've said, 'You're altogether too full of bobance and bounce and high spirits. You've got to learn that life isn't all fricasseed frogs and ell pie. You want something to sober you down a bit. We're only saying it for your own good, Puddleglum.' That's what they say. Now a job like this --a journey up north just as winter's beginning looking for a prince that probably isn't there, by way of ruined city nobody's ever seen-- will be just the thing. If that doesn't steady a chap, I don't know what will.

With that, I hurled the slipper at him, not caring if I caused his decapitation. (I did not.) Marshaling what little dignity I yet possessed, I stomped down the corridor - challenging indeed with one shoe - and around the corner. I lay awake for hours. The prince had no right, not one, to indict me so, and if I had held the slightest hope of the book's assistance, I would have climbed at once to my wizard room for a spell with which to punish him. Death, perhaps, or humiliation. A croaking frog would be nice, particularly a frog that retained Florian's dark eyes. I should keep it in a box and poke it occasionally with a stick; that would be satisfying indeed.

I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.

I remember finding him very attractive at the time; though any man who pays attention to you, at that age, can transform from frog to prince in the time it takes to tell you he likes your hair.

Happily ever after doesn't begin with Once upon a time: it begins with Now.

These days when you kiss a prince you often run the risk of turning him into a frog. But don't let the ogres in shining armor get you down. There is no need for distress - you don't want to be anyone's damsel anyway. Simply remind yourself that you are busy racking up those 'frequent failure points' that will eventually pay for an all expenses paid trip to Mr Right.

So I know you must have a plan and this wolf—" "Beast," Min said. "—frog, whatever, can't fit your plan." "He's not a frog," Min said. "I kissed him and he did not turn into a prince."He turned into a god. No, he didn't . "Look, I'm never going to see him again, so everybody can relax.

You don't have to kiss a lot of frogs to recognize a prince when you find one." -Henrietta Barrett, (Minx, Splendid Trilogy book #3)

With magic, you can turn a frog into a prince. With science, you can turn a frog into a Ph.D and you still have the frog you started with.

Love softens everything except our sense of integrity.

(The golden goose has died, my prince turned into a frog, the Kingdom is lost, everyone has turned into stone and I am locked in the tower)

There's nothing deeper than love. In fairytales , the princesses kiss the frogs, and the frogs become princes. In real life, the princesses kiss princes, and the princes turn into frogs.

Who would have thought that a human and a dragon could make such a perfect match?

. . . wishes are like magnifying glasses they enlarge and focus an intention that is already inside us.

There was something stubborn in me that didn't want to lose weight to attract a man. If the right man came along, he'd be able to see my virtues magically. Once he kissed me, the frog would turn into a prince. I had become a trick question, a heavy disguise, but behind the disobliging exterior was the welcoming child I would always be. Of course, what I'd forgotten was that he was not Parsifal and I was not the Grail; the medievalism of my imagination was not sufficiently up-to-date to recognize that the lover was a shopper and I a product.

Sometimes you have to realise that somebody is not coming back and there will be no happy ending. You don't get the prince, you get the frog. And sometimes after a while the frog doesn't seem so bad and you realise that the prince was not in fact that much of a prince.

She groaned and closed those eyes. “Do not look at me like that. You will make me smile, and I refuse to smile when I am attempting to stay mad at you.

'You do know what magic is, don't you?' Magic's when you close your eyes, make a wish, and it comes true.' 'No, that's coincidence.' Magic's when a princess kisses a frog and it turns into a prince.' 'No, that's evolution.' Isabelle scratched her neck. 'Well, then, what is magic?

Darling, you know what they say. You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.” I give her a lopsided, bittersweet smile. “I think I’ve kissed a prince, Mom. I hope he doesn’t turn into a frog.

It was a story they could tell their children, something out of a fairy tale. How their mother had not known who he was when she accepted him, and the frog turned out to be a prince. But the princess had been unwilling to kiss the frog, the prince remained warty and unloved, and now there was no adventure to be had.

Q: There's this talking frog that says he's a prince. What are the repercussions of cooking it for dinner? A: There are none. Make sure you bread the whole frog evenly.

the worth of the soul is so much greater than what is first perceived. Equality and love for all became the founding basis

IT’S A FUNNY THING TO be the product of a fairy-tale romance. It’s another thing to think you might find one yourself. You can read the stories and watch the movies, and you can think you know how it’s all supposed to unfold. But the truth is, love is as much fate as it is planning, as much a beauty as it is a disaster. Finding a prince might mean kissing a lot of frogs. Or kicking a lot of frogs out of your house. Falling might mean running headfirst into something you always wanted. Or dipping your toe into something you’ve been scared of your whole life. Happily ever after could be waiting in a field a mile wide. Or a window as narrow as seven minutes'.

Does a caterpillar sit on the same leaf when it's a butterfly? No! It goes for a little fly and sees something of the world. Does the tadpole stay in the same pond once it's a frog? No! It stretches its legs, goes for a jump, explores other waters. Did Cinderella go back cleaning hearths once she married the prince? ... Transformation means moving forward. If a butterfly stays on the same leaf and a frog stays in the same pond, then they may as well have stayed a caterpillar or a tadpole. There was no point in metamorphosing.

Some women have kissed—and some are kissing—a lot of frogs, even though the very first man that they have each kissed was and is still a prince.

some women turn frogs into princes. But that takes a queen, not a princess — or a shrew. Like most women, you, my dear, turn princes into frogs!

she fell asleep wondering if turning frogs into princes could be learned. Or do you have to be born royalty?

She'd assumed the prince was for show, and the frog was their true nature being revealed. What if they actually were Princes? And something I did changed them?

She possessed courage of the blood, she said, but I possessed courage of the spirit. She was . . . a singular creature.

It’s a funny thing to be the product of a fairy-tale romance. It’s another thing to think you might find one yourself. You can read the stories and watch the movies, and you can think you know how it’s all supposed to unfold. But the truth is, love is as much fate as it is planning, as much a beauty as it is a disaster. Finding a prince might mean kissing a lot of frogs. Or kicking a lot of frogs out of your house. Falling might mean running headfirst into something you always wanted. Or dipping your toe into something you’ve been scared of your whole life. Happily ever after could be waiting in a field a mile wide. Or a window as narrow as seven minutes.

The Beyond is like a window at night. Standing inside the lit house and looking out into the darkness, one can see nothing. But from outside in the darkness, everything within is bright.

Okay you guys need the dope on the real story of the princess and the frog...So once upon a time a beautiful independent confident princess came upon a frog sitting by a pond. The frog said to the princess 'I was once a handsome prince until an evil Witch put a spell on me.'...So the smart-assed frog said 'If you will just kiss me I will turn back into a prince. And then you'll marry me move into the castle with my mother and you can cook for me and clean my clothes have my children and live happy ever after while I go rescue a damsel in distress'...Later that night the princess laughed as she sat down to dinner. 'I don't think so ' she said and dug hungrily into her plate of frog's legs. And she lived happily ever after.

Amy, I know it hurts now, but don’t give up. Out there somewhere is a guy or girl that will treat you like the princess you are. My mom always says you have to kiss a few frogs before you find your handsome prince. Consider Nick as just another frog in your quest to find your prince. He’s out there, I know it, waiting to come rescue you and sweep you off your feet.

It is necessary to create constraints, in order to invent freely. In poetry the constraint can be imposed by meter, foot, rhyme, by what has been called the "verse according to the ear."... In fiction, the surrounding world provides the constraint. This has nothing to do with realism... A completely unreal world can be constructed, in which asses fly and princesses are restored to life by a kiss; but that world, purely possible and unrealistic, must exist according to structures defined at the outset (we have to know whether it is a world where a princess can be restored to life only by the kiss of a prince, or also by that of a witch, and whether the princess's kiss transforms only frogs into princes or also, for example, armadillos).

This has nothing to do with realism (even if it explains also realism). A completely real world can be constructed, in which asses fly and princesses are restored to life by a kiss, but that world, purely possible and unrealistic, must exist according to structures defined at the outset (we have to know whether it is a world where a princess can be restored to life only by the kiss of a prince, or also by that of a witch, and whether the princess's kiss tranforms only frogs into princes or also, for example, armadillos).

Fairy tales, like shoes, come in all shapes and sizes. Frogs turn into princes. Princes assist ladies into glass slippers. And now I’m back to shoes again. Shoes are comforting, right? They haven’t let me down, run around on me, or destroyed

Alas, Gulietta, this was an American frog of the last quarter of the twentieth century, a time when wishing apparently no longer led to anything, and Leigh-Cheri eventually named it Prince Charming after that son-of-a-bitch who never comes though.

Hmm,' said the King. 'I must write that down in my book of aphorisms. I don't know if it is deep, but it sounds deep.

The Frog Prince The princess kisses the frog and contracts a waterborne disease that makes her bottom explode.

Sometimes you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince charming…”- Gabbi

Wallowing in self-pity was only warranted on rainy, dismal days.

In the story of the prince and the frog, there’s always a frog. This story ... it has no frog.

If at any point you discover yourself hesitating, or being incongruent, or putting off until tomorrow something you could try now, or just needing some new choices, or being bored, glance over your right shoulder and there will be two madmen there, sitting on stools, insulting you.

We find our way to the marble kitchen, open the fancy silver fridge, and serve ourselves a heaping plate of coleslaw and chicken fingers. “Mmm,” I say. Prince makes sloppy eating sounds. “Delicious,” says Jonah. He smiles at Frederic. “Tastes just like frog legs.” I laugh so hard I snort coleslaw out of my nose.

Darling, you know what they say. You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.' I give her a lopsided, bittersweet smile. 'I think I've kissed a prince, Mom. I hope he doesn't turn into a frog.

Just because a frog says he's a prince doesn't mean you should kiss him. For all you know he's one of the arrogant, worthless princes who might better serve society as a pair of buttered legs on someone's plate.

Our frog lies on her back. Waiting for a prince to come and princessify her with a smooch? I stand over her with my knife. Ms. Keen’s voice fades to a mosquito whine. My throat closes off. It is hard to breathe. I put out my hand to steady myself against the table. David pins her froggy hands to the dissection tray. He spreads her froggy legs and pins her froggy feet. I have to slice open her belly. She doesn’t say a word. She is already dead. A scream starts in my gut—I can feel the cut, smell the dirt, leaves in my hair.   I don’t remember passing out. David says I hit my head on the edge of the table on my way down. The nurse calls my mom because I need stitches. The doctor stares into the back of my eyes with a bright light. Can she read the

Oh!" said Cimorene. She had never met a talking frog before. "Are you an enchanted prince?" she asked a little doubtfully. "No, but I've met a couple of them, and after a while you pick up a few things," said the frog.

In the minds of the illiterate peasants, who did not speak Latin, “Hoc est corpus!” got garbled into “Hocus-pocus!” Thus was born the powerful spell that can transform a frog into a prince and a pumpkin into a carriage.6

In the ceremony of Mass, the priest takes a piece of bread and a glass of wine and proclaims that the bread is Christ’s flesh, the wine is Christ’s blood, and by eating and drinking them the faithful attain communion with Christ. What could be more real than actually tasting Christ in your mouth? Traditionally, the priest made these bold proclamations in Latin, the ancient language of religion, law, and the secrets of life. In front of the amazed eyes of the assembled peasants the priest held high a piece of bread and exclaimed “Hoc est corpus!”—“This is the body!”—and the bread supposedly became the flesh of Christ. In the minds of the illiterate peasants, who did not speak Latin, “Hoc est corpus!” got garbled into “Hocus-pocus!” Thus was born the powerful spell that can transform a frog into a prince and a pumpkin into a carriage.6

IT’S A FUNNY THING TO be the product of a fairy-tale romance. It’s another thing to think you might find one yourself. You can read the stories and watch the movies, and you can think you know how it’s all supposed to unfold. But the truth is, love is as much fate as it is planning, as much a beauty as it is a disaster. Finding a prince might mean kissing a lot of frogs. Or kicking a lot of frogs out of your house. Falling might mean running headfirst into something you always wanted. Or dipping your toe into something you’ve been scared of your whole life. Happily ever after could be waiting in a field a mile wide. Or a window as narrow as seven minutes.

Know must look the same. He'd never thought he'd be someone with tired eyes. Never thought, he'd stare across a fire at a girl who had them, a girl who'd lied to him and insulted him and, really, when it came down to it, ruined his life. He never thought he'd want to keep staring at her. (The Frog Prince Story.

Sebastian looked up and grinned evilly. " Hey, Prince Charming. Have you kissed your frog yet?"Quinn frowned and thought about what Sebastian just said. When it hit him, Quinn chuckled and shook his head. " You're an asshole."Sebastian laughed. " Henry told me about the French chick you're working with," he shrugged. Quinn hummed. He wasn't surprised that Henry told Sebastian. Those two told each other everything. " Did you seriously just refer to a French chick as a frog?" The blonde asked dryly, eyebrow raised.

Love is beautiful and frightening, Ariane. It’s not a tame thing, and it often catches you unaware. But you cannot fear love or consider yourself a lesser person because of it. You are not a fool—you are brave. Loving another person takes great strength, and it’s never easy. Something will always stand in the way. But that is because it is worth it.

I will not be eaten! Particularly not without a good wine to accompany me!

Carla: You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. Anastasia: I think I’ve kissed a prince. I hope he doesn’t turn into a frog.

The world is a big and…interesting place,” she said.

I mean seriously, how many frogs do you have to kiss before you finally find your damn prince?!" -Brooklyn

I have a pet frog. He sleeps in a king-sized bed, just in case he happens to be an undercover prince.

Sometimes you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.

Every day, whether you mean to or not, you are becoming the man you will be -

The euphoric lust cloud is gone and once the smoke begins to clear, like in all good fairytales, the princess turns into nothing more than a common farm girl while the prince goes back to being a regular frog.

You gotta kiss a lot of frogs,” he often told his team, “before you find a prince.” In fact, frog kissing was one of his mantras: he encouraged his engineers to try out many variations to increase their chances of stumbling on the right one. But

If you are a dreaming woman you are at the beginning of the web of creation. This web is extremely elastic, like a spider web. The old stories describe the web like this: When Cloud-Dreaming Woman's daughter Spider Woman created this earth, it was left to her daughters to carry on the endless dream weaving. But Spider Woman started things. She dreamed and spun out the things of this world. She did not know she was dream weaving; only that she was dreaming ... something. So she gave birth to the ugly right along with the beautiful, the sweet natured and the misanthrope, the frog and the smooth-cheeked prince, atomic bombs and telephones along with every plant ad chemical to cure or kill. If you are a dreaming woman, however, you know you and your sisters are together making this world. - Queen of Dreams The Story of A Yaqui Dreaming Woman

When he makes you a promise, he is assuring you that however the world changes, his word will not change. Thus, he is creating the future inside the present. Even more: he is creating the present inside the present. He is establishing on stationary point amid the infinite flux of events.

A modern princess—of England, say, or Monaco— serves the purpose of being an adornment in the fantasy life of the public. Consequently, she receives the kind of education that one might think of giving to a particularly splendid papier-mâché angel before putting it at the top of the Christmas tree: an education whose main goal is proficiency in the arts of looking pretty and standing straight. Our century, whatever virtues it may have, is not an optimal time for princesses. Things were different in the Renaissance. Intelligence had a primary value then. At almost every level of the social order, education was meant to create true amateurs—people who were in love with quality. A gentleman or lady needed to be at least minimally skilled in many arts, because that was considered the fittest way of appreciating the good things in life and honoring the goodness itself. Nor did being well-rounded mean smoothing over your finest points and becoming like the reflection of a smile in a polished teaspoon. Intelligence walked hand in hand with individuality, although having finely sharpened points of view did not, it was felt, require you to poke other people with them. If wit was a rapier, courtesy was the button at the end of the blade.

It’s a funny thing to be the product of a fairy-tale romance. It’s another thing to think you might find one yourself. You can read the stories and watch the movies, and you can think you know how it’s all supposed to unfold. But the truth is, love is as much fate as it is planning, as much a beauty as it is a disaster. Finding a prince might mean kissing a lot of frogs. Or kicking a lot of frogs out of your house. Falling might mean running headfirst into something you always wanted. Or dipping your toe into something you’ve been scared of your whole life. Happily ever after could be waiting in a field a mile wide. Or a window as narrow as seven minutes.

Be there, or Mal will find you,” he said to his squat little lab partner, Le Fou Deux, as they both dissected a frog that would never turn into a prince in Unnatural Biology class. “Be there, or Mal will find you and ban you from the city streets,” he whispered to the Gastons as they took turns stuffing each other in doomball nets in PE.

you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince.' My mothers favorite expression was completely fucking wrong. If you kiss a lot of frogs, all you end up with is sore lips and a bunch of frogs. And if you kiss a lot of princes, hoping at least one of them will stay that way, all you get is a horrific amount of disappointment and even more frogs.

Fig trees interest me," he said. "They're like children: full of potential, but frighteningly vulnerable. Ignore a fig tree, neglect it, and its life will be short. It will die and never give fruit. But if you accept the fig's fragility and give it your full attention as it grows, you will have a tree that lasts for centuries and bears fruit beyond compare.

Surely it could not be the same party. It looked like a warzone. The floating chandelier had crashed and shattered on the dance floor, freeing the now- dark floating orbs. People ran madly for the exit. Some were being chased by pickax-wielding dwarves, to say nothing of the ogres. The floor was littered with frogs. Hopefully they weren’t enchanted princes, because some of them were getting squished by the mob.

The Frog was the only one who could retrieve the golden ball because he was the only one who could descend into the well. He was the only one who could descend into the well because the art of diving was still unknown in Europe at this time. The art of diving was still unknown in Europe because it had not yet been imported from India. Therefore the Frog was the only one who could retrieve the golden ball. Q.E.D.

My friend Oscar is one of those princes without kingdom who wander around hoping you'll kiss them so they won't turn into frogs. He gets everything back to front and that's why I like him. People who think they get everything right do things wrong, and this, coming from a left-handed person, says it all. He looks at me and thinks I don't see him. he imagines I'll evaporate if he touches me and if he doesn't touch me, then he'll evaporate. He's got me on such a high pedestal he doesn't know how to get up there. He thinks my lips are door to paradise, but doesn't know they are poisoned. I am such a coward that I don't tell him so as not to lose him. I pretend I don't see him, and that I am, indeed, going to evaporate... My friend Oscar is one of those princes who would be well advised to stay away from fairy tales and the princesses who inhabit them. He doesn't know he's really Prince Charming who must kiss Sleeping Beauty in order to wake her from her eternal sleep, but that's because Oscar doesn't know that fairy tales are lies, although not all lies are fairy tales. Princes aren't charming, and sleeping beauties, however beautiful, never wake up from their sleep. He's the best friend I've ever had and if I ever come across Merlin, I'll thank him for having placed him in my path.

I'd better explain something about myself. Just as I wasn''t your archetypal beauty of a miller's daughter, I also did not have the same hankerings after pretty golden princes as my peers were universally supposed to have. Don't ask me why. A matter of personal taste. The King, as handsome as a former fairytale prince must be once he's stopped being a frog, left me cold. I had always been attracted to—how can I put it?—the unusual. The shepherd boy was no one's idea of an Adonis; he suffered badly from the after-effects of chickenpox, and had a body which at best could be called weedy. But once he did the things he did, I came to love each and every pock mark on his pallid cheeks, and lay in my bed at night entertaining myself with visions of his skinny thighs and thin, unmanly, rounded shoulders. It's fascinating how human desire can find all manner of things exciting once it's been given a push in the right direction.

Do not issue many edicts, and if you do, try to make them good ones, and, above all, ones that are carried out and obeyed; for edicts that are not carried out are as good as nonexistent, and they let it be known that the prince who had the intelligence and authority to issue them did not have the courage to enforce them; laws that intimidate but are not enforced become like the log that was king of the frogs: at first it frightened them, but in time they came to despise it and climbed up on it.

The gospel does have many of the earmarks of a fairy tale. In fairy tales you have the poor boy who becomes rich, the leaden cabinet which turns out to have the treasure in it, the ugly duckling who turns out to be a swan, the frog who becomes a prince. Then we come to the gospel, where it's the Pharisees, the good ones, who turn out to he the villains. It's the whores and tax collectors who turn out to he the good ones. Just as in fairy tales, there is the impossible happy ending when Cinderella does marry the prince, and the ugly duckling is transformed into a swan, so Jesus is not, in the end, defeated. He rises again. In all these ways there is a kind of fairy tale quality to the gospel, with the extraordinary difference, of course, that this is the fairy tale that claims to he true. The difference is that this time it's not just a story being told-it's an event. It did happen! Here's a fairy tale come true. -Frederich Buechner, interview in The Door In a utilitarian age, of all other times, it is a matter of grave importance that fairy tales should he respected.

I am short, so I like the little guy/underdog stories, but they are not straightforwardly about one size versus another. Think about, say, Jack and the Beanstalk, which is basically a big ugly stupid giant, and a smart little Jack who is fast on his feet. OK, but the unstable element is the beanstalk, which starts as a bean and grows into a huge tree-like thing that Jack climbs to reach the castle. This bridge between two worlds is unpredictable and very surprising. And later, when the giant tries to climb after Jack, the beanstalk has to be chopped down pronto. This suggests to me that the pursuit of happiness, which we may as well call life, is full of surprising temporary elements -- we get somewhere we couldn't go otherwise and we profit from the trip, but we can't stay there, it isn't our world, and we shouldn't let that world come crashing down into the one we can inhabit. The beanstalk has to be chopped down. But the large-scale riches from the 'other world' can be brought into ours, just as Jack makes off with the singing harp and the golden hen. Whatever we 'win' will accommodate itself to our size and form -- just as the miniature princesses and the frog princes all assume the true form necessary for their coming life, and ours. Size does matter.

If only something would happen. Something being the revelation that transfigures existence; works a miraculous presto-chango upon the mundane mortal world - turning the toads and cockroaches back into handsome princes, the Clark Kents into Superman - that calls unexpectedly up on the phone and says: "your name has just been picked from a hat, like a rabbit, and we're giving you a million dollars", - or that announces in a sudden telegram: "Congratulations! Lady Rockerfeller has just died and left you several estates and an enchanted sources of continual private income". But instead, day after day, there are hardboiled eggs instead of frogs legs for breakfast, and doubts and worries buzz and sting like the evils in Pandora's box.

I lay back with a groan and close my eyes. I am just getting comfortable when two sharp elbows land in my midsection. Hayley crawls on top of me on the couch. I think she must be part monkey. She holds a kid-sized board book in her hand. “Wead,” she says, shoving it in my face. I sit up, tucking her into my lap. I take the book from her and open it, but the words jumble. I turn it upside down. “Once upon a time,” I begin. “Dat’s not how it goes,” she complains. She’s a smart girl. “I know,” I explain. “But books are magical, and if you turn them upside down, there’s a whole new story in the pages.” “Weally?” she asks, her eyes big with wonder. No, not really. But it’s the best I can do, kid. “Really,” I affirm. She wiggles, settling more comfortably in my arms. I start to make up a story based on the upside-down pictures. She listens intently. “Once upon a time, there was a little frog. And his name was Randolf.” “Randolf,” she repeats with a giggle. “And Randolf had one big problem.” “Uh oh,” she breathes. “What kind a problem?” “Randolf wanted to be a prince. But his mommy told him that he couldn’t be a prince since he was just a frog.” I keep reading until I say, “The end.” She lays the book to the side and snuggles into me. I kiss the top of her head because it feels like the right thing to do. And she smells good. “Your story was better than the book’s story,” she says. My heart swells with pride. “Thank you.” If only it was this easy to please the adults of the world.

To win the good-will of the people thou governest there are two things, among others, that thou must do; one is to be civil to all (this, however, I told thee before), and the other to take care that food be abundant, for there is nothing that vexes the heart of the poor more than hunger and high prices. Make not many proclamations; but those thou makest take care that they be good ones, and above all that they be observed and carried out; for proclamations that are not observed are the same as if they did not exist; nay, they encourage the idea that the prince who had the wisdom and authority to make them had not the power to enforce them; and laws that threaten and are not enforced come to be like the log, the king of the frogs, that frightened them at first, but that in time they despised and mounted upon. Be a father to virtue and a stepfather to vice. Be not always strict, nor yet always lenient, but observe a mean between these two extremes, for in that is the aim of wisdom. Visit the gaols, the slaughter-houses, and the market-places; for the presence of the governor is of great importance in such places; it comforts the prisoners who are in hopes of a speedy release, it is the bugbear of the butchers who have then to give just weight, and it is the terror of the market-women for the same reason. Let it not be seen that thou art (even if perchance thou art, which I do not believe) covetous, a follower of women, or a glutton; for when the people and those that have dealings with thee become aware of thy special weakness they will bring their batteries to bear upon thee in that quarter, till they have brought thee down to the depths of perdition.

Our frog lies on her back. Waiting for a prince to come and princessify her with a smooth? I stand over her with my knife. Ms. Keen's voice fades to a mosquito whine. My throat closes off. It is hard to breathe. I put out my and to steady myself against the table. David pins her froggy hands to the dissection tray. He spreads her froggy legs and pins her froggy feet. I have to slice open her belly. She doesn't say a word. She is already dead. A scream starts in my gut - I can feel the cut, smell the dirt, leaves in my hair. I don't remember passing out. David says I hit my head on the edge of the table on my way down. The nurse calls my mom because I need stitches. The doctor stares into the back of my eyes with a bright light. Can she read the thoughts hidden there? If she can, what will she do? Call the cops? Send me to the nuthouse? Do I want her to? I just want to sleep. The whole point of not talking about it, of silencing the memory, is to make it go away. It won't. I'll need brain surgery to cut it out of my head. Maybe I should wait until David Petrakis is a doctor, let him do it.

Drat. Daisy pulled back with a frown. She felt guilty that she had enjoyed the kiss so little. And it made her feel even worse when it appeared Llandrindon had enjoyed it quite a lot. “My dear Miss Bowman,” Llandrindon murmured flirtatiously. “You didn’t tell me you tasted so sweet.” He reached for her again, and Daisy danced backward with a little yelp. “My lord, control yourself!” “I cannot.” He pursued her slowly around the fountain until they resembled a pair of circling cats. Suddenly he made a dash for her, catching at the sleeve of her gown. Daisy pushed hard at him and twisted away, feeling the soft white muslin rip an inch or two at the shoulder seam. There was a loud splash and a splatter of water drops. Daisy stood blinking at the empty spot where Llandrindon had been, and then covered her eyes with her hands as if that would somehow make the entire situation go away. “My lord?” she asked gingerly. “Did you… did you just fall into the fountain?” “No,” came his sour reply. “You pushed me into the fountain.” “It was entirely unintentional, I assure you.” Daisy forced herself to look at him. Llandrindon rose to his feet, water streaming from his hair and clothes, his coat pockets filled to the brim. It appeared the dip in the fountain had cooled his passions considerably. He glowered at her in affronted silence. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he reached into one of his water-laden coat pockets. A tiny frog leaped from the pocket and returned to the fountain with a quiet plunk. Daisy tried to choke back her amusement, but the harder she tried the worse it became, until she finally burst out laughing. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth, while irrepressible giggles slipped out. “I’m so— oh dear—” And she bent over laughing until tears came to her eyes. The tension between them disappeared as Llandrin don began to smile reluctantly. He stepped from the fountain, dripping from every surface. “I believe when you kiss the toad,” he said dryly, “he is supposed to turn into a prince. Unfortunately in my case it doesn’t seem to have worked.” Daisy felt a rush of sympathy and kindness, even as she snorted with a few last giggles. Approaching him carefully, she placed her small hands on either side of his wet face and pressed a friendly, fleeting kiss on his lips. His eyes widened at the gesture. “You are someone’s handsome prince,” Daisy said, smiling at him apologetically. “Just not mine. But when the right woman finds you… how lucky she’ll be.