Quotes from Philip Pullman

Noche que contemplas ceñuda este refulgente desierto, deja que salga tu luna mientras cierro los ojos. William Blake

You are so young, Lyra, too young to understand this, but I shall tell you anyway and you'll understand it later: men pass in front of our eyes like butterflies, creatures of a brief season. We love them; they are brave, proud, beautiful, clever; and they die almost at once. They die so soon that our hearts are continually racked with pain.

She watched it calmly, content not to know at first but to know that a meaning was coming, and then it began to clear. She let it dance on until it was certain.

The thought came to Will and Lyra at the same moment, and they exchanged a tear-filled glance. And for the second time in their lives, but not the last, each of them saw their own expression on the other's face.

but he wondered how many others had seen the loneliness in her expression when she wasn't guarding it.

Dust is beautiful...I never knew.

but there are fates that even the most powerful have to submit to. There is nothing I can do to help you change the way things are.

Las decisiones no deberían tomarse en función de cómo nos sentimos…, culpables, débiles…

The terms of this combat are these. If Iofur Raknison kills me, then he will be king forever, safe from challenge or dispute. If I kill Iofur Raknison, I shall be your king. My first order to you all will be to tear down that palace, that perfumed house of mockery and tinsel, and hurl the gold and marble into the sea. Iron is bear-metal. Gold is not. Iofur Raknison has polluted Svalbard. I have come to cleanse it. Iofur Raknison, I challenge you.

No, y no es así como las tomamos. Se trata de elegir entre lo malo y lo menos malo.

Mientras volaba en silencio volvió la vista atrás, como si le persiguiera su miedo. Edmund Spenser

Trust chance, trust silence, trust mystery

Lyra encouraged, bullied, hit, half-carried, swore at, pushed, dragged, lifted tenderly, wherever it was needed, and Pantalaimon (by the state of each child's dæmon) told her what was needed in each case.

But everyone will know...' 'So what? It's nothing to be ashamed of. Things happen to people's families all the time and it's not their fault. If you cope with it by being brave, people will admire you for it.

Tell them stories. They need the truth. You must tell them true stories, and everything will be well. Just tell them stories.

She flung a mental lifeline to that physical self, and tried to recall the feeling of being in it: all the sensations that made up being alive. The exact touch of her friend Atal's soft-tipped trunk caressing her neck. The taste of bacon and eggs. The triumphant strain in her muscles as she pulled herself up a rock face. The delicate dancing of her fingers on a computer keyboard. The smell of roasting coffee. The warmth of her bed on a winter night.

I'll get them there, she kept saying to herself. I come here to get 'em and I'll bloody get 'em.

He couldn't possibly have said why. He knew it at once, as strongly as he knew that fire burned and kindness was good.

When you're young, you do think that things last forever

But heaven knows there are enough policemen about. They're like a plague of cockroaches. You can't move without stepping on them.

Behind them lay pain and death and fear; ahead of them lay doubt, and danger, and fathomless mysteries. But they weren't alone. So Lyra and her dæmon turned away from the world they were born in, and looked towards the sun, and walked into the sky.

Todo hombre está en poder de su espectro hasta que llega la hora en que su humanidad despierta… William Blake

He picked up a book that lay on the floor. "Are you reading this?" he said. It was Simon Talbot's The Constant Deceiver. "Yes," she said. "I'm not sure about it." "That should please him.

Il n'y a pas d'ailleurs