J.S. Strange Quotes
It was impossible, of course. But when did that ever stop any dreamer from dreaming.
Your king is SUPPOSED to explode? What kind of government system is that?
She was every inch the skeletal goddess that had been promised by the bones of her feet.
..I marvelled at the intense beauty of this human relationship that was born out of so much love and was destined, perhaps inevitably, to end in a tragedy of such terrible proportions.
He read while he walked. He read while he ate. The other librarians suspected he somehow read while he slept, or perhaps didn't sleep at all.
What's a horizon?' Lazlo asked, straight-faced. 'Is it like the end of an aisle of books?
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.
As much as you long for it, it longs for you more. Take one step toward the Big Person and it will take a hundred steps toward you.
It was the hate of the used and tormented, who are the children of the used and tormented, and whose own children will be used and tormented.
You’re a storyteller. Dream up something wild and improbable, " she pleaded. "Something beautiful and full of monsters."“Beautiful and full of monsters?"“All the best stories are.
And that's how you go on. You lay laughter over the dark parts. The more dark parts, the more you have to laugh. With defiance, with abandon, with hysteria, any way you can.
Get out of doors, Strange. Breathe air, see things. A man should have squint lines from looking at the horizon, not just from reading in dim light.
What's the point of being old if you can't beleaguer the young with your vast stores of wisdom?And what's the point of being young if you can't ignore all advice?
I think you're a fairy tale. I think you're magical, and brave, and exquisite. And I hope you'll let me be in your story.
Where have they gone?" "Wherever magicians used to go. Behind the sky. On the other side of the rain.
He believed in magic, like a child, and in ghosts, like a peasant.
children betrayed their parents by becoming their own people
Losing maturity in one’s fiction for the sake of marvels and monsters can also mean losing propriety, and that’s not always a bad thing.
I likes me some ‘Shit Blows Up’ fiction, don’t get me wrong.
The strange case of Billy Biswas had at last been disposed of. It had been disposed of in the only manner that a humdrum society knows of disposing its rebels, its seers, its true lovers.
She had inherited a story that was strewn with corpses and clotted with enmity, and was only trying to stay alive in it.
I can still make a fist, and breath still burns in my chest. So look at my face. Look at my mortal soul, and remember it. You did not crush me, and you will have the rest of eternity to think on it.
You wanted to live, " he says."You say that like it's a good thing. A virtue.""What is it really?"I think about this. "Selfish.""Wanting to live is selfish?""Yes.
Will you not see?” she cried. “You are not as other men are. Why need you bow to a Fate? Can you not change it?
I dead each day when her call was busy elsewhere.
...remember after every autumn, the flora senses the rapturous kiss of cheerful spring.(Book-Love Vs Destiny)
Is Shimmer a floor wax or a dessert topping? Is an electron a wave or a particle? Slipstream tells us that the answer is yes.
You have a history of starving yourself, " he says gently.I lift my head. I meet his gaze. "I have a history that I don't like to talk about.
Being apart was wrong. Simply lying side by side did more for a relationship than words. A warm bed, a nest of animal intimacy. Words could be misunderstood, whereas loving companionship bred trust.
To be one of a pair of bodies that knew that melting fusion. To reach and find. To be and reached for and found. To belong to a mutual certainty. To wake up holding hands.
My friends love me terribly, and their grief will be a screaming storm if I die.
Life is a weird place, what gonna happen next? No one knows it and nothing is guaranteed.
What was he? Storyteller and secretary and doer of odd jobs, neither Tizerkane nor delegate, just someone along for the dream.
...I still cannot tap on your walls and discover by the hollow or firm sounds which of your walls are merely decorative, and which ones hold everything up.
Can a magician kill a man by magic?” Lord Wellington asked Strange.Strange frowned. He seemed to dislike the question. “I suppose a magician might, ” he admitted, “but a gentleman never could.
But the other Ministers considered that to employ a magician was one thing, novelists were quite another and they would not stoop to it.
It seemed that it was not only live magicians which Mr. Norrell despised. He had taken the measure of all the dead ones too and found them wanting.
Ha!" cried Dr John contemptuously. "Magic! That is chiefly used for killing Frenchmen, is it not?
To be Spirit-filled is to be Christ-centered.
It is the right of a traveller to vent their frustration at every minor inconvenience by writing of it to their friends.
What happened to the good old days when rich white men just bought their way into office?
The most futile cry of man is his impossible wish to be understood