Rl Stine Book Quotes

Read. Read. Read. Just don't read one type of book. Read different books by various authors so that you develop different style.

Many adults feel that every children's book has to teach them something.... My theory is a children's book... can be just for fun.

The book the snowman was the best book I have ever read it had suspence durring the whole book it was AWSOME!!!

Fiction has two uses. Firstly, it’s a gateway drug to reading. The drive to know what happens next, to want to turn the page, the need to keep going, even if it’s hard, because someone’s in trouble and you have to know how it’s all going to end … that’s a very real drive. And it forces you to learn new words, to think new thoughts, to keep going. To discover that reading per se is pleasurable. Once you learn that, you’re on the road to reading everything. And reading is key. There were noises made briefly, a few years ago, about the idea that we were living in a post-literate world, in which the ability to make sense out of written words was somehow redundant, but those days are gone: words are more important than they ever were: we navigate the world with words, and as the world slips onto the web, we need to follow, to communicate and to comprehend what we are reading. People who cannot understand each other cannot exchange ideas, cannot communicate, and translation programs only go so far. The simplest way to make sure that we raise literate children is to teach them to read, and to show them that reading is a pleasurable activity. And that means, at its simplest, finding books that they enjoy, giving them access to those books, and letting them read them. I don’t think there is such a thing as a bad book for children. Every now and again it becomes fashionable among some adults to point at a subset of children’s books, a genre, perhaps, or an author, and to declare them bad books, books that children should be stopped from reading. I’ve seen it happen over and over; Enid Blyton was declared a bad author, so was RL Stine, so were dozens of others. Comics have been decried as fostering illiteracy. It’s tosh. It’s snobbery and it’s foolishness. There are no bad authors for children, that children like and want to read and seek out, because every child is different. They can find the stories they need to, and they bring themselves to stories. A hackneyed, worn-out idea isn’t hackneyed and worn out to them. This is the first time the child has encountered it. Do not discourage children from reading because you feel they are reading the wrong thing. Fiction you do not like is a route to other books you may prefer. And not everyone has the same taste as you. Well-meaning adults can easily destroy a child’s love of reading: stop them reading what they enjoy, or give them worthy-but-dull books that you like, the 21st-century equivalents of Victorian “improving” literature. You’ll wind up with a generation convinced that reading is uncool and worse, unpleasant. We need our children to get onto the reading ladder: anything that they enjoy reading will move them up, rung by rung, into literacy. [from, Why our future depends on libraries, reading and daydreaming]

Yes! Yes! Yes!” Marty kept leaping into the air. I thought I might have to tie a rope around his waist and hold onto it to keep him from floating away!

Many adults feel that every children's book has to teach them something.

No field trip. No pancakes. And a boring lecture. As we took our seats in the auditorium, I wanted to complain to Buzzy about how unfair it was. But he was talking to Summer Magee, who sat on his other side. I couldn’t blame him for ignoring me. Summer is one of the hottest girls in school. I’ve had a mad crush on her since third grade, when we built a volcano together for the science fair. Summer saved my life when the volcano exploded and a wave of burning hot lava gushed onto the front of my T-shirt. She grabbed the shirt in both hands—and ripped it off my body before I was too badly burned. The class went wild. I’ve had a thing for her ever since. But let’s face facts. In the past three years, Summer hasn’t paid much attention to me at all. I think maybe she was disappointed that our volcano was such a loser. Or maybe she doesn’t even remember the whole thing. Summer has wavy blond hair, dimples in both cheeks, sky-blue eyes,

I stood in a bare room of dark wood floors and olive-green walls. No furniture. It was daytime. A slender beam of sunlight washed in through a single dust-smeared window. And a boy stood stiffly in front of the window, his face hidden in shadow. I was standing close enough to reach out and touch him. He took a step out of the shadow, and I could see his empty eye sockets. His eyes were missing. Under the deep holes in his face, his mouth twisted in a menacing scowl. I turned away. I couldn’t bear to look at him. Wave after wave of panic rolled down my body. I shut my eyes and wished myself out of there. I knew I was dreaming. I struggled to raise myself, to pull myself up from the ugly dream, away from the boy with no eyes. But no. When I turned back, I was still in that narrow room, still standing across from the scowling boy. Trapped in the dream. Unable to escape it. And then the boy stuck his arms straight out, as if reaching for me. He staggered toward me. Closer … closer … I

He looked a lot like the drawings of Benjamin Franklin in my history book.

I don’t think you’re weird, Ari.” Destiny dropped down on the edge of the bed and picked up the Anne Rice book. “I think it’s cool that you’re into…stuff.

I didn’t know that carrying the old typewriter home would totally ruin my life. I dragged the typewriter into the ranch house where I live.

Are you ready to present your book reports?” Miss Shindling asked. The classroom erupted with sounds—chairs scraping, Trapper-Keepers being opened, papers being rustled, throats being cleared.

So are you going ahead with your plan?” Danny demanded. “Yeah. Sure,” Todd said. “I have to. They just took the weekend off. For sure. Tomorrow is school. That means more worms in my backpack, in my books, in my lunch.” “Yuck,” Danny murmured on the other end of the line.

He couldn't carry a note in a wheelbarrow . . . Harry

guess I could start my story by telling you about the school assembly on Monday morning. It will give you a good idea of what has been happening to me. I pushed into the third row of the auditorium

No field trip. No pancakes. And a boring lecture. As we took our seats in the auditorium, I wanted to complain to Buzzy about how unfair it was. But he was talking to Summer Magee, who sat on his other side. I couldn’t blame him for ignoring me. Summer is one of the hottest girls in school. I’ve had a mad crush on her since third grade, when we built a volcano together for the science fair. Summer saved my life when the volcano exploded and a wave of burning

My name is Sammy Baker. I’m twelve, and I never freak out or lose my cool or go berserk. I’m probably the quietest, nicest, most law-abiding, rule-following, do-good kid at Grover Cleveland Middle School. Ask anyone. Even Miss Flake, my teacher, says I am the least trouble of any of her students. She says that’s her highest compliment. Miss Flake says she would give me a gold star for attitude

But I could hear Mitzi nearby. She was still upstairs. If she saw me reading the comic book, she’d run downstairs and tell Dad for sure. Mitzi’s hobby is being a snitch.

Yes, that’s the laptop I use to write all the Goosebumps books. I know it looks strange. That’s because someone’s lap is still attached. Don’t touch it. I think it’s contagious.