A fantasy is a journey. It is a journey into the subconscious mind, just as psychoanalysis is. Like psychoanalysis, it can be dangerous; and it will change you.

This was a great magic. Festin had no more performed it than has any man who in exile or danger longs for the earth and waters of his home, seeing and yearning over the doorsill of his house, the table where he has eaten, the branches outside the window of the room where he has slept. Only in dreams do any but the great Mages realize this magic of going home.

A lot of people still maintain genre prejudice. I still meet matrons who tell me kindly that their children enjoyed my books but of course they never read them, and people who make sure I know they don’t read that space-ship stuff. No, no, they read Literature—realism. Like The Help, or Fifty Shades of Grey.

Solo en el silencio la palabra, solo en la oscuridad la luz, solo en la muerte la vida; el brillo del halcón brilla en el cielo vacío.

Encender una vela es proyectar una sombra...

A medida que un hombre adquiere más poder y sabiduría, se le estrecha el camino, hasta que al fin no elige, y hace pura y simplemente lo que tiene que hacer...

Los buenos terminan triunfando. ¿O quizá los triunfadores terminan siendo los buenos?

For fantasy is true, of course. It isn’t factual, but it’s true. Children know that. Adults know it too and that’s precisely why many of them are afraid of fantasy. They know that its truth challenges, even threatens, all that is false, all that is phony, unnecessary, and trivial in the life they have let themselves be forced into living. They are afraid of dragons because they are afraid of freedom.

In this he saw that Ogion had been right: the shadow could not draw on his power, so long as he was turned against it.