I think fantasy is best described as a kind of fiction that evokes wonder, mystery or magic, a sense of possibility beyond the ordinary world in which we live, and yet which reflects and comments upon that known world.

Geschichten, das wusste Jude, waren wertvoll, denn sie halfen einem, die Welt zu verstehen. Sie lenkten von den wirklich schlimmen Dingen ab und manchmal, in den besten Fällen, ließen sie Hoffnung aufkeimen.

Well, anyway, this'll be easier than knocking an elf out of a tree. Trust me.''How many elves have you knocked out of trees, Stubble?''Duraden's bones! Have ye never heard of a figure of speech?

Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,Empty the haunted air, and gnomèd mine—Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile madeThe tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade

The censors don't bother with fantasy books, especially old ones. They can't understand them. They think it's all kids' stuff. They'd die if they knew what The Chronicles of Narnia were really about.

Do you get the same peace of mind that I do when you're causing random damage? Especially random, senseless, mindless damage that serves no real purpose. That's my favorite kind, you know! That's the best!

Wenn du in's Fettnäpfchen getreten bist und jemand dir freundlicherweise die Hand hinstreckt, um dich da rauszuholen, dann solltest du die Hilfe vielleicht annehmen, anstatt dich auch noch darin zu wälzen.

This book does not exist. And if that doesn’t deter you from buying it, then I’m also selling frozen alien flesh, a patch of Bigfoot’s fur, and a patch of land on Pluto (limit one per customer).


Milcas raced out his door, anxious to find the answer to this riddle and discover the source of hope for a Roegan in Fargranther; the propellant of an unheard of, forgotten, impossible, and by all accounts, damned idea.

A man who admits that dwarfs and giants and talking beasts and witches are still dear to him in his 50-third year is now less likely to be praised for his perennial youth than scorned and pitied for arrested development.

They poured out the lower doors and windows of the castle, howling to the skies. They evolved into a kind of cohesive moving liquid, flowing down the hillside as one silvered blob, like mercury on a scientist’s palm.

She had not meant to name them, but she could not help herself; and having done so she thought, Let their names be symbols that their lives are worth the keeping. Let them struggle a little the harder, to keep their names.

Deception was an inherent trait of intelligent beings. Even his love, in her ample ardor, would weave him a guilty lie for his own good. And he treasured her just as well for those tales he was sure she'd already spun.

A part of me sought the light in all the people I knew, but with the Shadows, it was like bringing them back from a subterfuge comma. Literally tearing the veil of blackness down and showing them the luminescence of light.

It’s hillbilly urine; we had better get home before they come to eat us.” Kevin said pointing towards home proving if there was ever any doubt that he had no acting ability at all. (The Children of Ankh series)