"Professor Hora," Momo whispered, "I never knew that everyone's time was so --" she strove to find the right word, but in vain -- "so big," she said eventually.
"What you've just seen and heard wasn't everyone's time," the professor replied, "it was only your own. There's a place like the one you visited in every living soul, but only those who let me take them there can reach it, nor can it be seen with ordinary eyes."
"So where was I?"
"In the depths of your own heart," said the professor, gently stroking her tousled hair.
"Professor Hora," she whispered again, "may I bring my friends to see you too?"
"No," he said, "not yet. That isn't possible."
"How long can I stay with you, then?"
"Until you feel it's time to rejoin your friends, my child."
"But may I tell them what the stars were saying?"
"You may, but you won't be able to."
"Why not?"
"Because, before you can, the words must take root inside you."
"But I want to tell them -- all of them. I want to sing them what the voices sang. Then everything would come right again, I think."
"If that's what you really want, Momo, you must learn to wait."
"I don't mind waiting."
"I mean, wait like a seed that must slumber in the earth before it can sprout. That's how long the words will take to grow up inside you. Is that what you want?"
"Yes," she whispered.

(Michael Ende "Momo")