To Igor Motiasho There was a certain village in a valley where lived Merry-mage, the local magician. He was very kind-hearted and good-humoured, always cheerful and bright. Merry mage was also well known for his hobby. He grew trees. But these weren't just ordinary trees. Instead of fruit, they produced all sorts of miraculous things. Miles and miles away, high up in the mountains in a large cave there lived a Dragon. He was a malicious, repulsive and cunning creature and he never harmed fools or simpletons, instead he treated them very well. "How clever this Dragon is!" the fools usually said after they escaped the deadly encounter unscathed. "And how beautiful, too. He takes good care of his teeth and claws and always keeps them sharp. And doesn't he smile nicely when he crawls out for a stroll! He shook hands with us all. Imagine that! He's more like a peaceful sparrow than a dangerous monster."
Once upon a time there was a glorious city. The people there were simple, kind-hearted and hospitable. They were protected by Merrymind, a famous magician. But don't get the wrong idea. He didn't stand by the main gates every day warding off aliens and other unwanted visitors. No. Merrymind never stood by the gates. In fact there were no gates and no walls around the city. Anyone could freely enter the city and enjoy the sincere hospitality of its residents.
Friends! I'm glad to be with you! Sit down and feel at ease. Here's a tale designed to please. There is magic and mystery and much much more, And have you heard of the Bliss Bird before? Are you ready? Off we go!* Have you ever heard of Wonderland and its wonderful inhabitants? If not, you should be ashamed of yourselves! It was a mysterious land cut off from the rest of the world by deep seas and high mountains. Among its fairy inhabitants there lived Grandpa Wisehead and Grandma Concordia. They had no wonderful children of their own, so Grandpa Wisehead and Grandma Concordia adopted seven boys from the ordinary world.
by Lesya Ukrainka A small, rather frail-looking boy was lying in bed in his little room. He was staring wide eyed at the window in front of which hung an embroidered shawl. A very narrow beam of blue light had found a gap between the shawl and the window frame and was streaming into the boy's room. "What are you looking at, my dear?" asked the boy's mother who was sitting by his bed.
Once upon a time there lived a poor man who had an even poorer son. He was a real weakling, feeble and sickly, frail and skinny. That's why he was known locally as Misfit. The old man and his son lived in a shabby, damp room and they ate only crusts. That was bad enough, but when the old man died, things went from bad to worse for Misfit. His landlord told him to clear out.
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