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...
She is a rarer creature than you dare to dream. She is a myth, a memory, a will-o’-the-wish.
She came very close, and looking into my eyes, she said, My Jenny, and then she bent her head and kissed me—here, on the left-hand corner of my mouth. And nobody knows better than I that I couldn’t ha...
No sorrow will live in me as long as that joy--save one, and I thank you for that, too.
La Signora looked into his eyes, as she had done before, but this time Bianchi looked back and lost himself in a bright wilderness: a forest filled with glowing, shifting shadows, where nothing threat...
I like being brave well enough, but I will be a lazy coward again if you think that would be better.
I have been mortal, and some part of me is mortal yet. I am full of tears and hunger and the fear of death, although I cannot weep, and I want nothing, and I cannot die. I am not like the others now,...
I always say perseverance is nine-tenths of any art — not that it's much help to be nine-tenths an artist, of course.
When I was eighteen or twenty, I knew everything except what I wanted. I knew all about people, and poetry, and love, and music, and politics, and baseball, and history, and I played pretty good jazz...
There’s more meaning than magic to this. The
The woman I loved died because I did not love her enough - what greater sin is there than that?(Uncle Chaim and Aunt Fifke and the Angel)
The magic on you is only magic and will vanish a soon as you are free, but the enchantment of error that you put on me I must wear forever in your eyes. We are not always what we seem, and hardly ever...
It's a rare man who is taken for what he truly is, he said. There is much misjudgment in the world. Now, I knew you for a unicorn when I first saw you, and I know that I am your friend. Yet you take m...
He says that there is no such thing as a cat—it is just a shape that all manner of imps, hobs, and devilkins like to put on, to gain easy entrance into the homes of men.
There was nothing for it now but to throw himself on Campos's mercy, and it had been Mr. Rebeck's experience of mercy that it had a tendency to buckle under the weight of a human soul.
What magical thing could you want so badly that they take you away from the known world for wanting it?
We give them different names, those nights lit only by fire and the moon, depending on the country and the calendar, but we know what they are. They call up the world that was before the Lord came dow...
We are used men, spent men—but if you would see miracles, you have only to request the impossible of us. We will become young again if you wish it so.
Walking by yourself in the rain is for college kids who think loneliness makes poets.
The moral of that story, I think, is that being poor will kill you. Or perhaps the moral is that brides never fare well in stories, and one should avoid either being a bride, or being in a story. Afte...