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somethingchanged: “What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?” “Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.” “Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit. “Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.” “Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?” “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” “I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

somethingchanged:

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

“I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.

But the Skin Horse only smiled.

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  1. ghostlybird reblogged this from somethingchanged
  2. joycejamie reblogged this from brentkeane and added:
    “What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to...
  3. noeyelids reblogged this from brentkeane
  4. brentkeane reblogged this from somethingchanged
  5. ohpeccadillo reblogged this from somethingchanged
  6. scomet reblogged this from la-libellule and added:
    My cousin had this section read at her wedding.
  7. carmaki reblogged this from somethingchanged
  8. em-gems reblogged this from somethingchanged
  9. romainvicta reblogged this from anathem and added:
    I read this book everyday for a while.
  10. anathem reblogged this from la-libellule and added:
    Oh man, me too. This was my favorite book when I was little.
  11. la-libellule reblogged this from somethingchanged and added:
    I love love love this book.
  12. haveitoldyoutodayiloveyou reblogged this from somethingchanged and added:
    read us The Velveteen
  13. igeteven reblogged this from somethingchanged and added:
    ooh i remember this...our literature class back in second year college. i miss! good book!...
  14. thisisaculdesac reblogged this from somethingchanged
  15. supremechaos reblogged this from somethingchanged
  16. piccoloniccolo reblogged this from somethingchanged and added:
    This book made me cry buckets as
  17. somethingchanged posted this

when you come to the end of the road, and you can't let go.

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