After the third [San Miguel], I am likely to announce that all writing is fantasy anyway: that to set any event down in print is immediately to begin to lie about it, thank goodness; and that it's no less absurd and presumptuous to try on the skin of a bank teller than that of a Bigfoot or a dragon.
An elegant sari was draped across her figure; magnificent, painstakingly embroidered, and in a shade of deep red, it was even more lavish than the gowns she had worn every day since arriving at the castle. Her lips and eyes were painted, and though she looked beautiful she had never been more miserable.
I didn’t ask for your help,” I muttered, too exhausted to properly argue. “So fuck you.”An alarm bell went off in my head and I bit back a sigh. I swore I sensed the mischievous grin that inevitably crossed his lips.“I already did you.”It was going to be a long drive.
I consider fantasy the heir of mythology, addressing a real human need to seek out answers to life’s many mysteries. It is a genre that can tell an entertaining and enthralling story on the surface, and yet deliver a potent message underneath, where everything becomes a symbol of something greater.
It was as if he had two faces, one of utmost calm, one of furious action; and he wore both with ease. He was like the animal whose face he wore, able to sit in silence for hours, without moving a muscle, then flying like a raging storm into battle, returning again to perfect calm when the fight was over.
The sun was late, stuck in heavy mist. When it finally broke free there was no one to see, no one to applaud its sterling effort, because everyone in Freemantle was heading west. The burnt orange blaze of dawn made it look like they were fleeing a fire, but all knew that the real conflagration lay ahead.
Fine. Fine. Let’s try. You asked why bad things happen to good people. Well, the simple answer is, there are no bad things and there are no good people. Nothing bad ever happens to anyone and people are neither good nor bad. A person is nothing. A person does not exist. There are no people.
Mit der Magie verhält es sich ein wenig wie mit der Mathematik: Sie ist eine präzise Wissenschaft mit klaren Regeln, die Uneingeweihten aber nur schwer zu erklären sind; und auf ihre Weise sind die Lehren eines Einstein auch nicht weniger magisch als die der großen Mystiker von einst.
Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisioned by the enemy, don’t we consider it his duty to escape?…If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!
The UFOs were nothing more than the collective fantasies of a stressed out society... The world into which UFOs had appeared was one of under-the-desk siren drills against nuclear annihilation. Society had made a new myth, a communal idea of something outside a species apparently intent on dooming itself.
The castle of Enysfarne was a dark and towering force that hovered over what was left of my innocence. It contained my destiny, of that I had no doubt whatsoever; a fate that threatened to wipe the blush off my face and turn me into the man my father always wanted me to be... Veronica Somerset, Dragonfly.
Fantasy isn't about escape; it's a survival mechanism. It's a way to deal with things that are so much bigger than you are. So I think fantasy is special, something to be cherished and protected because it's a very fragile thing and without it, we're so defenseless, we're paralyzed.
The cave exploded with the sound of trumpets.A heavenly choir began to sing.A surge of power ran up the sword into Henry's hand.A voice thundered through the cavern. "Whosoever Pulleth The Sword From Out The Stone, Is Rightwise Born King of All England."Henry screamed and threw the sword into the lake.
Gym is a fantasy place for me,gym is the place where i can do what ever i want.nobody stops you.nobody irritate you.you can lift weight what ever you want to choose.during exercises when you look your self in mirror and some people saw you.and think that he has nice built.that moment you proud on yourself.
The Witcher had a knife to his throat. He was wallowing in a wooden tub, brimfull with soapsuds, his head thrown agains the slippery rim. The bitter taste of soap lingered in his mouth as the knife, blunt as a doorknob, scraped his Adam's apple painfully and moved towards his chin with a grating sound.
