crowings

"And when he had failed to find these boons in things whose laws are known and measurable, they told him he lacked imagination, and was immature because he preferred dream-illusions to the illusions of our physical creation."

"Once in a while, though, he could not help seeing how shallow, fickle, and meaningless all human aspirations are, and how emptily our real impulses contrast with those pompous ideals we profess to hold. Then he would have recourse to the polite laughter they had taught him to use against the extravagance and artificiality of dreams; for he saw that the daily life of our world is every inch as extravagant and artificial, and far less worthy of respect because of its poverty in beauty and its silly reluctance to admit its own lack of reason and purpose."

"Calm, lasting beauty comes only in dream, and this solace the world had thrown away when in its worship of the real it threw away the secrets of childhood and innocence."

~The Silver Key


Perhaps the most wonderful thing about writing is its ability to turn us into ourselves, to bring comfort and companionship to even the most desolate and irregular of people and, on a lucky occasion, to articulate with such poised clarity as rhetoric will provide the murky depths of longings and half-wishes lingering inside each of our twisted little heads.

Or maybe it's the escapism.