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We shouldn't be here at all, if we'd known more about it before we started. But I suppose it's often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually -- their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on -- and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same -- like old Mr Bilbo. But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?
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tale
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J.R.R. Tolkien |
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A sad tale's best for winter: I have one of sprites and goblins.
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winter
tale
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William Shakespeare |
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There is but one world and everything that is imaginable is necessary to it. For this world also which seems to us a thing of stone and flower and blood is not a thing at all but is a tale. And all in it is a tale and each tale the sum of all lesser tales and yet these are also the selfsame tale and contain as well all else within them. So everything is necessary. Every least thing. This is the hard lesson. Nothing can be dispensed with. Nothing despised. Because the seams are hid from us, you see. The joinery. The way in which the world is made. We have no way to know what could be taken away. What omitted. We have no way to tell what might stand and what might fall. And those seams that are hid from us are of course in the tale itself and the tale has no abode or place of beind except in the telling only and there it lives and makes its home and therefore we can never be done with the telling. Of the telling there is no end. And . . . in whatever . . . place by whatever . . . name or by no name at all . . . all tales are one. Rightly heard all tales are one.
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story
world
imagination
tale
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Cormac McCarthy |
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"October knew, of course, that the action of turning a page, of ending a chapter or shutting a book, did not end the tale. Having admitted that, he would also avow that happy endings were never difficult to find: "It is simply a matter," he explained to April, "of finding a sunny place in a garden, where the light is golden and the grass is soft; somewhere to rest, to stop reading, and to be content."
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seasons
reading
satisfaction
happiness
ending-a-chapter
turning-a-page
fairy-tale
happy-ending
season
october
book
garden
tale
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Neil Gaiman |
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For the others, it was still just a tale, like all the tales we told, night by night, tales comical and strange, tales heroic and awe-inspiring, the tales that formed the fabric of our spirits.
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spirit
tale
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Juliet Marillier |
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Under every roof, a story, just as behind every brow, a history
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story
tale
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Gregory Maguire |
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The Warrior knows that no man is an island. He cannot fight alone; whatever his plan, he depends on other people. He needs to discuss his strategy, to ask for help, and, in moments of relaxation, to have someone with whom he can sit by the fire, someone he can regale with tales of battle.
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man
people
relaxation
island
plan
help
warrior
fire
strategy
fight
tale
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Paulo Coelho |
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"You're terrible at this whole 'tell me whatever I want to know' thing." My hand goes to the crossbow, but I don't pick it up. He sighs. "Just ask me something. Ask about my tail. Don't you want to see it?" He raises his brows."
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truth-telling
double-entendre
double-meaning
faeries
question
suggestive
tail
tale
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Holly Black |
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The implication of this particular tale is: Trust strangers. Believe in magic.
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tale
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Michael Cunningham |
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"In Pliny I read about the invention of clay modeling. A Sicyonian potter came to Corinth. There his daughter fell in love with a young man who had to make frequent long journeys away from the city. When he sat with her at home, she used to trace the outline of his shadow that a candle's light cast on the wall. Then, in his absence she worked over the profile, deepening, so that she might enjoy his face, and remember. One day the father slapped some potter's clay over the gouged plaster; when the clay hardened he removed it, baked it, and "showed it abroad" (63)." --
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myth
story
folk-tale
fairy-tale
shadow
muslim
tale
legend
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Annie Dillard |
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It is a strange tale and utterly Barsoomian.
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strange
tale
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Edgar Rice Burroughs |