I am a teller of stories; a weaver of dreams. I can dance, sing—and in the right weather, I can stand on my head. I have a little magic, and a trick or two. I know the proper way to meet a dragon; I can fight dirty, but not fair; I once swallowed thirty oysters in a minute. I am not domestic, I am a luxury: and in that sense, necessary. —Jim Henson, The Storyteller
I might join your century But only on a rare occasion —The Dresden Dolls, "Girl Anachronism"
They also say that I bring back the past; For instance, Helen comes, Brushing the maggots from her eyes, And, clearing her throat of several thousand years She says "I loved . . ."; but cannot any longer Remember names. Sad Helen. Or Alexander, wearing His imperial cobwebs and breastplate of shining worms Wakens and looks for his glasses, to find the empire Which he knows he put beside his bed. —Christopher Fry, The Lady's Not For Burning
There is a land where the sun and moon do not shine; where the birds are dreams, the stars are visions, and the immortal flowers spring from the thoughts of death. In that land grow fruit, the juices of which sometimes cause madness, and sometimes manliness; for that fruit is flavored with life and death, and it is the proper nourishment for the souls of man. —Hope Mirrlees, Lud-in-the-Mist
I'll tell you all my secrets, but I lie about my past So send me off to bed forevermore —Tom Waits, "Tango Till They're Sore"
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