Quotes from Michael Ende

There are people who can never go to Fantastica, said Mr. Coreander, and others who can, but who stay there forever. And there are just a few who fo to fantastica and come back. Like you. And they make both world well again.

When you know as much as we do, nothing matters. Things just repeat. Day and night, summer and winter. The world is empty and aimless. Everything circles around. Whatever starts up must pass away,whatever is born must die. It all cancels out, good or bad, beautiful or ugly.

One may enter the literary parlor via just about any door, be it the prison door, the madhouse door, or the brothel door. There is but one door one may not enter it through, which is the child room door. The critics will never forgive you such. The great Rudyard Kipling is one of a number of people to have suffered from this. I keep wondering to myself what this peculiar contempt towards anything related to childhood is all about.

Nur Momo konnte so lange warten und verstand was er sagte. Sie wußte, daß er sich so viel Zeit nahm, um niemals etwas Unwahres zu sagen. Denn nach seiner Meinung kam alles Unglück der Welt von den vielen Lügen, den absichtlichen, aber auch den unabsichtlichen, die nur aus Eile oder Ungenauigkeit entstehen.

You see, Momo... it's like this. Sometimes, when you've a very long street ahead of you, you think how terribly long it is and feel sure you'll never get it swept... And then you hurry. You work faster and faster, and every time you look up there seems to be just as much to sweep as before, and you try even harder…, and you panic, and in the end you're out of breath and have to stop-and still the street stretches away in from of you.

Now he knew that there were thousands and thousands of forms of joy in the world, but that all were essentially one and the same, namely, the joy of being able to love.

In his opinion, all the world's misfortunes stemmed from the countless untruths, both deliberate and unintentional, which people told because of haste or carelessness.

And there in the snow lay the pictures, like jewels bedded in white silk. They were paper-thin sheets of colored transparent isin glass of every size and shape, some round, some square, some damaged, some intact, some as large as church windows, others as small as snuffbox miniatures.

When you know as much as we do, nothing matters.

It says that Moon Child's power ends here. She is the only one who can never set foot in this place. She cannot penetrate to the center of A U R Y N, because she cannot cast off her own self.

little creatures they were who seemed to have been blown from glass.

Up until then he had always wanted to be someone other than he was, but he didn't want to change.

Now, for the first time ever, a story had escaped his control. It had taken on a life of its own, and all the imagination in the world would be insufficient to halt it. He felt numb.

No existe el instante, sólo el pasado o el futuro. Porque ahora, por ejemplo, este instante… cuando hablo de él ya ha pasado.

But there was another thing Momo couldn't quite understand - a thing that hadn't happened until very recently. More and more often these days, children turned up with all kinds of toys you couldn't really play with: remote-controlled tanks that trundled to and fro but did little else, or space rockets that whizzed around on strings but go nowhere, or model robots that waddled along with eyes flashing and heads swiveling but that was all.

there are certain treasures that kill you if you can't share them with others.

Oh, nothing can happen more than once, but all things must happen one day.

Its whole expanse was covered with tall, juicy grass, and when the wind blew, great waves passed over it with a sound like troubled water. (The Grassy Ocean)

The professor smiled. "If people knew the nature of death," he said after a moment's silence, "they'd cease to be afraid of it. And if they ceased to be afraid of it, no one could rob them of their time any more.

She felt as if she were imprisoned in a vault heaped with priceless treasures - an ever-growing hoard that threatened to crush the life out of her. There was no way out, either. The vault was impenetrable and she was far too deeply buried beneath a mountain of time to attract anyone's attention.

Porque el tiempo es vida, y la vida nace en el corazón.

Without memory how will you ever find your way back to where you came from?

Time is the very essence of life itself, and life exists in our hearts.

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