Quotes About Fantasy

My fantasy life. Without it I'm afraid to exist.

In an oppressive society it may well be that *all* fantasies indulged in by the oppressor are destructive to the oppressed. To become involved in them in any way at all is, at the very least, to lose time defining yourself. To isolate the fantasy we must cleave to reality, to what *we* know, *we* feel, *we* think of life. Trusting our own experience and our own lives; embracing both the dark self and the light.

Whatever was going on between my parents, I suppose that my fantasy of self-sufficiency, my heavy investment in my own mind, is also a kind of narcissistic cathexis.

I want to suspend my disbelief. I want to see magic happen. I want to believe that there's a world just beneath the surface of our world where anything can happen, where magic is possible and dreams come true.

Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's "Somewhere Over the Rainbow.

with my fucking suave manners and knowitall, eyes, and mind full of fantasy - the Me! that horror that keeps me conscious, in this Hell of Birth & Death

the fantasy, power, songfulness, beauty, and humor of the music itself has been not so much overlooked as rendered secondary to the discussion of it by experts. Instead of his reputation's creating curiosity about his work, his work has been buried by (and beneath) his reputation.

Hippogriff, n. An animal (now extinct) which was half horse and half griffin. The griffin was itself a compound creature, half lion and half eagle. The hippogriff was actually, therefore, only one-quarter eagle, which is two dollars and fifty cents in gold. The study of zoology is full of surprises.

Reality, n. The dream of a mad philosopher.

Didn't seem likely, but what's the point of likely fantasies?

Glen Cook, Scott Lynch, and Steven Erikson, then

people made the imaginary real all the time: taking the music they heard in their head and recording it, seeing a house in their imagination and building it. Fantasy was always only a reality waiting to be switched on.

It sounded like delusion until you remembered that people made the imaginary real all the time: taking the music they heard in their head and recording it, seeing a house in their imagination and building it. Fantasy was always only a reality waiting to be switched on.

I know all about bridges like that one. I know all about roads that can only be found with the mind. One of them is how I find my way to Christmasland. There is the Night Road, and the train tracks to Orphanhenge, and the doors to Mid-World, and the old trail to the Tree House of the Mind, and then there is Victoria's wonderful covered bridge.

Give a man a choice between reality and loneliness or fantasy and community, he'll pick having friends every time.

Fantasy was always only a reality waiting to be switched on. They

Ig knew her, of course. It was the same woman who had served him and Merrin drinks on their last night together. Her face was framed by two wings of lank black hair that curled under her long, pointed chin, so she looked like the female version of the wizard who was always giving Harry Potter such a hard time in the movies. Professor Snail or something. Ig had been waiting to read the books with the children he and Merrin planned to have together.

The pills I take are a paperweight. All they do is pin the fantasies down. But they're still there, and any strong wind that comes along, I can feel them rattling around, trying to slip free.

This is the way people dream of being kissed, a movie star kiss

Snuffleupagus was real. No

The road to Christmasland is paved in dreams!

E se ter um porto seguro perfeito com o qual sonhar acordado é bom para elas, o que tem de errado nisso?

and the doors to Mid-World

She was a cartoonist, not an engineer; reality could get stuffed.