Quotes About Fantasy

You often appear lost in a world of your own making. It is supremely appealing to men to see a woman content with herself. We long to slip inside her and join her.

when we were eating dinner, imagining what it would be like to see

I never really thought of myself as romantic. I mean, I like romance and grand gestures and that tipsy feeling you get when you're crushing hard on someone. But the whole Prince Charming fantasy and marrying the love of your life wasn't my thing." "You and me, baby girl, we're too jaded. We just want mind-blowing sex with someone who knows we're fucked up and accepts it.

I look at the centerfold spread over the top of my toilet's water tank. She's got dark hair and blue eyes, and her legs are long. They always look like that, the women in the pictures Hugh brings.

I think I made you up inside my head.

There I went again, building up a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few prosy nothings.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) --from Mad Girl's Love Song: A Villanelle, written 1954

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

I am in danger of wanting my personal absolute to be a demigod of a man, and as there aren't many around, I often unconsciously manufacture my own. and then, I retreat and revel in poetry and literature where the reward value is tangible and accepted. I really do not think deeply. really deeply. I want a romantic nonexistant hero.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, Kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

There I went again, building p a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me, and all out of a few posy nothings.

You are twenty. You are not dead, although you were dead. The girl who died. And was resurrected. Children. Witches. Magic. Symbols. Remember the illogic of the fantasy.

You must create the right kind of dream, the sober, adult kind of magic: illusion born from disillusion.

You are twenty. You are not dead, although you were dead. The girl who died. And was resurrected. Children. Witches. Magic. Symbols. Remember the illogic of the fantasy. The strange tableau in the closet behind the bathroom: the feast, the beast, and the jelly-bean. Recall, remember: please do not die again.

She personifies the word cute. She is Cinderella and Wendy and Snow White.

Tu mente es la mayor guionista de «culebrones» de la historia: se inventa relatos increíbles, generalmente basadas en dramas y desastres, de situaciones que jamás han ocurrido y probablemente nunca ocurrirán. Mark Twain lo dijo de la mejor forma: «He tenido miles de problemas en mi vida, la mayoría de los cuales nunca sucedieron en realidad».

One step toward increasing our will toward creative success is learning to distinguish fantasy from desire.

What you've been living on is an image of Celia Which you made for yourself, to meet your own needs.

Dear Diary Went out shopping today. Picked up half a dozen sheep, two pigs, and a princess. The sheep are rather depressingly thin, the pigs and princess only slightly less so. Dear Diary Went out shopping today. Picked up half a dozen sheep, two pigs, and a princess. The sheep are rather depressingly thin, the pigs and princess only slightly less so.

Kind of like I suspect things are at night in the It's A Small World ride, when all the little figures come to life and whisper about how they'd like to torture and murder all those screaming children and grinning grown-ups in the boats.

Fritti, too, his head full of Hushpad and Firefoot and red claws, finally crossed the borders of the dream-fields. The furry tangle of Folk drowsed and mumbled away the waning Hour of Final Dancing.

What is it you want, fairy woman?" he asked at last. "I have dead men to burn and a siege to finish." Ayaminu