Quotes About Fantasy

From the premise that Christianity is true it follows that the far-off glimpse of joy produced by fantasy is a glimpse of truth; that a great eucatastrophic tale like The Lord of the Rings is a gift of divine grace, an opening of the curtain that veils Heaven to earthly eyes, a tiny telepathic contact with the Mind of God.

Byron had to blink a dozen times, each time hoping the dream would end. But the unreal was real.

Fantasies hurt. They hurt hard and deep. They lifted you up to places that you could never reach, then they let you down with a crash.

And then a prince will come along and say the magic words and three ravens will give you the magic tokens and a fish will carry you on his back

Despite all this talk about imagination, we are implacably real.

daydreaming?

For the unholy trinity of Bobs: Bloch, Heinlein, and Traurig— may I meet them on the banks of The River, where we'll board the fabulous Riverboat

Another fantasy film rolled suddenly into his head, without his consent:

Isn't a beautiful dream better than a cruel reality?

Secretaries, he thought acidly, read that junk, at home alone in bed at night. It stimulates them. Instead of the real thing. Which they're afraid of. But of course really crave.

Of course, he snuck all this in under the guise of pulp science fiction, baiting us into believing that maybe this is all just fantasy. Only once the story is over, and we take another look at the world around us, do we realize: It's all completely true.

I am by profession, a science fiction writer. I deal in fantasies. My life is a fantasy. Nonetheless, Gloria Knudson lies in a box in Modesto, California.

While translated one could commit incest, murder, anything, and it remained from a juridical standpoint a mere fantasy, an impotent wish only.

In cleaning up the ills of the world, Edith Pritchet eradicated, not merely objects, but whole classes of objects. Probably, at some remote time and place, she had been annoyed by a honking car. Now, in her pleasant fantasy version of the world, such things didn't exist. They simply weren't . Her list of annoyances was undoubtedly considerable. And there was no way to tell what was included.

Non siete contenti di non vivere in un romanzo di fantascienza, dove ogni azione ha uno scopo ed è coerente, e in un cui il caso non agisce? La capillare sensazione che abbiamo di un universo senza senso è forse ciò che sostiene le nostre vite.

Ist die traurigste Realität nicht immer noch besser als die Illusion?

Dear, I can't write, it's all a fantasy: a kind of circling obsession.

Only in books the flat and final happens, Only in dreams we meet and interlock....

Tolkien, who created this marvellous vehicle, doesn't go anywhere in it. He just sits where he is. What I mean by that is that he always seems to be looking backwards, to a greater and more golden past; and what's more he doesn't allow girls or women any important part in the story at all. Life is bigger and more interesting than The Lord of the Rings thinks it is.

The Lord of the Rings' is fundamentally an infantile work. Tolkien is not interested in the way grownup, adult human beings interact with each other. He's interested in maps and plans and languages and codes.

Lyra learns to her great cost that fantasy isn't enough. She has been lying all her life, telling stories to people, making up fantasies, and suddenly she comes to a point where that's not enough. All she can do is tell the truth. She tells the truth about her childhood, about the experiences she had in Oxford, and that is what saves her. True experience, not fantasy - reality, not lies - is what saves us in the end.

Was there only one world after all, which spent its time dreaming of others?

Or had she imagined it, and was her imagination just a spindrift of falsity?

She felt light-headed, as if part of her were somewhere else and dreaming of this, and she'd wake up soon and find everything normal.