Peter S. Beagle

Wisdom is finding joy in bewilderment

You're in the story with the rest of us now, and you must go with it, whether you will or no.

He gave them no titles; he never saw the point of doing so. If a poem did not tell you immediately what it was about, then, to Claudio Bianchi, it needed more help than a label was likely to provide.

I will miss it so,” she said beside him. “This hell of a place, I will miss it so much. This fat body, walking mud puddle, deceived by everything, this impossible, ruinous accident of a world, these people who would truly rather hurt one another than eat — oh, there is nothing, nothing, nothing I would not do to stay here ten minutes longer. Oh, I will leave claw marks, I will drag mountains and forests away under my fingernails when I am dragged off. Such a stupid way to feel. I will be all dirty from clutching at this stupid planet, and the gods will laugh at me.

But I felt them...hungry shadows who knew my name, clawing at my mind and my soul to be let in - and if I let them in there would be nothing left of me but skin; nothing but a shadow inside, like themselves. (By Moonlight)

From that first moment of doubt, there was no peace for her; from the time she first imagined leaving her forest, she could not stand in one place without wanting to be somewhere else. She trotted up and down beside her pool, restless and unhappy. Unicorns are not meant to make choices. She said no, and yes, and no again, day and night, and for the first time she began to feel the minutes crawling over her like worms.

What I forget not only ceases to exist, but never really existed in the first place.

All right, all right for you, you pretentious kneecap! How would you like a punch in the eye?

He knew something of sorrow, remembered joy, and devoutly hoped — as much as he consciously hoped for anything other than proper allotments of sunshine and rainfall — never again to encounter either of those two old annoyances.

Ravens bring things to people. We're like that. It's our nature. We don't like it.

I’m sure I’ll go to heaven. I’ve been dull enough.

The universe lies to our senses and they lie to us, and how can we ourselves be anything but liars? For myself, I trust neither message nor messenger; neither what I am told, nor what I see. There may be truth somewhere, but it never gets down to me

"The unicorn was so startled and so happy to hear her name spoken at last that she overlooked the remark about the horse. "Oh, you know me!" she cried, and the breath of her delight blew the butterfly twenty feet away."

Sure, she loves him. But they've got two different ideas of love. He wants to dance with her on a terrace with a full moon and a thirty-six-piece orchestra; he wants to go singing through storms with her, like Gene Kelly. She knows about thirty-six-piece orchestras. You have to feed them, and then there's nothing left for the children.

I like being brave well enough, but I will be a lazy coward again if you think that would be better.