When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.
They worried that fantasies were somehow inoculating me against more practical realities.
Miss Peregrine__ Home for Peculiar Children
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They worried that fantasies were somehow inoculating me against more practical realities.
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It seems to me that you might create any sort of character in a novel and there would be at least one person in the world just like him. We humans are simply incapable of imagining non-human actions or behavior. It's the writer's fault if we don't believe in his characters as human beings.
A song and a smile from someone I cared about could be enough to distract me from all that darkness, if only for a little while.