Quotes About Fantasy

As for fairy tales, he understood that they were reflections of the people who had spun them, and were flecked with little truths - intrusions of reality into fantasy, like toast crumbs on a wizard's beard.

On the occasions that he did look up from the page, he would seem as though he were awakening from a dream.

Where am I and doing what? You might well ask. Freaky chick, you say? You can't imagine. I am priestess of a sandcastle in a land of dust and starlight.

Let's just get this out of the way so I can relax. Karou, your friends aren't going to eat us, are they?" No, Karou thought. They are not. She whispered back, "I don't think so. But try not to look delicious, okay?

He drifted about with his head full of myths, always at least half lost in some otherland of story. Demons and wingsmiths, seraphim and spirits, he love it all.

My phone buzzes. It's from Karou: a list of conversation openers that I won't be needing. —a) Hi. I'm Zuzana. I'm actually a marionette brought to life by the Blue Fairy, and the only way I can gain a soul is if a human falls in love with me. Help a puppet out? —b) Hi. I'm Zuzana. The touch of my lips imparts immortality. Just sayin'. —c) Hi. I'm Zuzana. I think I might like you.

She tasted of fairytales

You should have seen them, Thyon said. "It was surreal." As an afterthought, he added, "Though I can't believe none of them rode the dragon." "I know!" said Ruza. "What was Azareen's thinking, choosing a winged horse when she could have a dragon?" "I don't think she was really focused on which creature was best," said Tzara. "You shouldn't have to focus on it," said Ruza. "It's instinctive. Dragons are always best.

There is unique pleasure in introducing the bizarre and inconceivable to others.

Love was love. But she hoped that he was not a dragon.

Dream up something wild and improbable. Something beautiful and full of monsters. -Beautiful and full of monsters? -All the best stories are.

Once upon a time, an angel and a devil fell in love and dared to imagine a new way of living—one without massacres and torn throats and bonfires of the fallen, without revenants or bastard armies or children ripped from their mothers' arms to take their turn in the killing and dying. This was not that world.

I write because, as wonderful as life is - and it is truly wonderful - it isn't enough. It does not, for example, contain dragons. I find this unsatisfactory. So I read. And I write.

There were no books to hide behind, and no shadows—only Lazlo Strange in his worn gray robes, with his nose that had been broken by fairy tales, looking like the hero of no story ever told. Or. No story yet told.

On the second Sabbat of Twelfthmoon, in the city of Weep, a girl fell from the sky.

In the thick of play, his daydreams were so vivid that a glimpse of reality would have shocked him.

He believed in magic, like a child, and in ghosts, like a peasant. His nose was broken by a falling volume of fairy tales his first day on the job, and that, they said, told you everything you needed to know about strange Lazlo Strange: head in the clouds, world of his own, fairy tales and fancy.

Well, I'm no alchemist," Lazlo said, affable. "You know me, Strange the dreamer, head in the clouds." He paused and added with a grin, "Miracles for breakfast.

Strange the dreamer was an artist, too, and he was the antidote to vile.

Not that I'm not keen to talk to him. I am --in the fantasy version of tonight, anyway, in which I actually manage to string words into sentences, and not just random magnetic-poetry sentences, but sentences that don't lead to the logical conclusion that I have brain damage.

Inside a mist, inside a dream, a young man and woman were remade.

All the bogeymen together, sitting down to tea.

Once upon a time, chimaera descended by the thousands into a cathedral beneath the earth. And never left.

It didn't matter; by now she knew she loved him in any skin. In her book there was another tale - one of the original eighteen - of a dragon who had a human wife, and Neve had never understood it before, at least from the wifes point of view. Love was love. But she hoped that he was not a dragon.