Fantasy Quotes

I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living.

Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It's a way of understanding it.

Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, it's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope.

Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one.

The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it.

Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.
First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.
Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying 'time heals all wounds' is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.
Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.
Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.

It's the questions we can't answer that teach us the most. They teach us how to think. If you give a man an answer, all he gains is a little fact. But give him a question and he'll look for his own answers.

When I was your age, television was called books.

It's so strange how life works: You want something and you wait and wait and feel like it's taking forever to come. Then it happens and it's over and all you want to do is curl back up in that moment before things changed.

Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life's coming attractions.

Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to Middle-earth.

I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, It's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, And that enables you to laugh at life's realities.

I have claimed that Escape is one of the main functions of fairy-stories, and since I do not disapprove of them, it is plain that I do not accept the tone of scorn or pity with which 'Escape' is now so often used. Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls?

She moved like a poem and smiled like a sphinx.

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep. You may have heard of me.

That's you," Wrath said. You shall be called the Black Dagger warrior Dhestroyer, descended of Wrath son of Wrath."
"But you'll always be Butch to us," Rhage cut in. "As well as hard-ass. Smart-ass. Royal pain in the ass. You know, whatever the situation calls for. I think as long as there's an ASS in there, it'll be accurate."
"How about bASStard?" Z suggested.
"Nice. I feel that.

Closed in a room, my imagination becomes the universe, and the rest of the world is missing out.

There's a time and place for everything, and I believe it’s called 'fan fiction'.

I have too many fantasies to be a housewife.... I guess I am a fantasy.

Who are you?
Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies?
Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them?
I have. I am fucking crazy.
But I am free.

Fairies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time.

There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old’s life:

The Lord of the Rings

and
Atlas Shrugged
.
One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs."
[
Kung Fu Monkey -- Ephemera
, blog post, March 19, 2009]

Happiness. It was the place where passion, with all its dazzle and drumbeat, met something softer: homecoming and safety and pure sunbeam comfort. It was all those things, intertwined with the heat and the thrill, and it was as bright within her as a swallowed star.

Looking back, I guess I used to play-act all the time. For one thing, it meant I could live in a more interesting world than the one around me.

Sometimes we seek that which we are not yet ready to find.

Peeta opens his mouth for the first bite without hesitation. He swallows, then frowns slightly. "They're very sweet."
"Yes they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you've ever had them before?" I say, poking the next spoonful in his mouth.
"No," he says, almost puzzled. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?"
"Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild," I say. Another mouthful goes down. Just one more to go.
"They're sweet as syrup," he says, taking the last spoonful. "Syrup." His eyes widen as he realizes the truth. I clamp my hand over his mouth and nose hard, forcing him to swallow instead of spit. He tries to make himself vomit the stuff up, but it's too late, he's already losing consciousness. Even as he fades away, I can see in his eyes what I've done is unforgiveable.
I sit back on my heels and look at him with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away. "Who can't lie, Peeta?" I say, even though he can't hear me.

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover and the poet
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet's eye, in fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

If you want to write a fantasy story with Norse gods, sentient robots, and telepathic dinosaurs, you can do just that. Want to throw in a vampire and a lesbian unicorn while you're at it? Go ahead. Nothing's off limits. But the endless possibility of the genre is a trap. It's easy to get distracted by the glittering props available to you and forget what you're supposed to be doing: telling a good story. Don't get me wrong, magic is cool. But a nervous mother singing to her child at night while something moves quietly through the dark outside her house? That's a story. Handled properly, it's more dramatic than any apocalypse or goblin army could ever be.

When you compare the sorrows of real life to the pleasures of the imaginary one, you will never want to live again, only to dream forever.

Fantasy. Lunacy.
All revolutions are, until they happen, then they are historical inevitabilities.

Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy.

Run first,' Shane said. 'Mourn later.'
It was the perfect motto for Morganville.

The cost of oblivious daydreaming was always this moment of return, the realignment with what had been before and now seemed a little worse.

I get in that kind of situation all the time, Comrade. It's not a big deal." Anger replaced my fear. I didn't like being treated like a child.
"Stop calling me that. You don't even know what you're talking about."
"Sure I do. I had to do a report on the R.S.S.R. last year.

Because you are the superhero fledgling. I’m just your more attractive sidekick. Oh, and the herd of nerds are your dorky minions.

Now that I've found the way to fly, which direction should I go into the night?

It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.

Fantasy, if it's really convincing, can't become dated, for the simple reason that it represents a flight into a dimension that lies beyond the reach of time.

I swear, my dear. Sometimes our conversations remind me of a broken sword."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Sharp as hell," Lightsong said, "but lacking a point.

ARE YOU CRAZY?" I ASKED.
He gave me the same wordless look he always did when I asked that question.

Humans need fantasy to be human. To be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape.

For the way loneliness is worse when you return to it after a reprieve—like the soul’s version of putting on a wet bathing suit, clammy and miserable.

There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

I want to be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.

She asked where he lived.
Second to the right,' said Peter, 'and then straight on till morning.

Have I ever told you how glad I am we're not enemies?
Eragon asked.
No, but it's very sweet of you.

Into the sky to win or die.

So you do believe in... true love?
she whispered.
I took a deep breath,
I think I have to,
I said, blinking back tears.
Without it, we're all going nowhere.