Quotes About Fantasy

I move from realism to fantasy without the spectator ever noticing.

They also remind us of the importance of the imagination.

Youre gonna grow up and marry some ice cream! Haha!

In Bottletown, even our tears flicker like jewels.

Being able to separate fantasy from reality was a real bummer. I

Noc byÅ'a peÅ'na biaÅ'ych królików mknÄ…cych po niebie zamiast gwiazd i ksi??yca

Birds weren't supposed to levitate or have four mouths or twenty pairs of wings or twelve sets of legs and undulate like a dragon. But, what could you do?

Im riding a troll! i was born to do this,and steal stuff, and EAT LOADS!

Culture uses art to dream the deaths of beautiful women.

feels that everything that just happened between them is a pretty illusion, a ride on a carousel. Here is his world: Sadie.

he was still my romantic hero and I was still his living dream

This is the singular fantasy of human intimacy: that one plus one will somehow, someday, equal one.

Nor did it occur to me that I couldn't keep a showgirl in my bedroom as a pet, just because I felt like it.

Oi'm always noble, sir; it's in my blood. 'As been ever since Oi ate that knight a few years back. Why?

Come, Titania, your walnut-shell carriage awaits, drawn by dragonflies and coached by a tiny black beetle. Away will we to dance like dandelion fluff upon the wind!

It is harder to imagine a different self now that I am an adult. As a child, I did imagine myself into other roles. I thought I would become normal, that someday I would be able to do what everyone else did so easily. In time, that fantasy faded. My limitations were real, immutable, thick black lines around the outline of my life. The only role I play is normal.

I fink it is a femuw. A femuw of a winowcowus... A a-stinct winocowus.

All that she saw and felt tired her, and she longed to shut out the world and be secure in the womb of her imagination.

We build the most outrageous castles in the air. Nothing is certain, and everything is possible.

No one who had never been depressed like me could imagine that the pain would get so bad that death became a star to hitch up to, a fantasy of peace someday which seemed better than any life with all this noise in my head.

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing.

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.

Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?

Oh, grown-ups cannot understand, And grown-ups never will, How short the way to fairyland Across the purple hill.