We went to Ranelagh. It is a charming place; and the brilliancy of the lights, on my first entrance, made me almost think I was in some enchanted castle or fairy palace, for all looked like magic to me.
(Frances Burney (1752-1840), British author. Evelina, in Evelina, letter 12 (1778).)
Good guilt is a product of love and responsibility. It is a natural, positive instinct that parents and good child care providers have. If bad guilt is a monster, good guilt is a friendly fairy godmother, yakking away in your head to keep you alert to the needs of your baby.
(Jean Marzollo (20th century), U.S. author. Your Maternity Leave, ch. 3 (1989).)
If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children, I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life.
(Rachel Carson (20th century), U.S. author. The Last Word, ed. Carolyn Warner, ch. 19 (1992).)
But the golden-rod is one of the fairy, magical flowers; it grows not up to seek human love amid the light of day, but to mark to the discerning what wealth lies hid in the secret caves of earth.
(Margaret Fuller (1810-1850), U.S. author, literary critic, journalist. journal entry, September 1840, quoted in Margaret Fuller Ossoli, p. 99, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Houghton, Mifflin and Co., Boston (1898).)
There's a quality of legend about freaks. Like a person in a fairy tale who stops you and demands that you answer a riddle. Most people go through life dreading they'll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They've already passed their test in life. They're aristocrats.
(Diane Arbus (1923-1971), U.S. photographer. Diane Arbus: An Aperture Monograph (1972).
From class lectures given in 1971.)
Shams and delusions are esteemed for soundest truths, while reality is fabulous. If men would steadily observe realities only, and not allow themselves to be deluded, life ... would be like a fairy tale and the Arabian Nights' Entertainments.
(Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), U.S. philosopher, author, naturalist. Walden (1854), in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 2, p. 106, Houghton Mifflin (1906).)
Let me tell you a fairy tale, my dear child. There was once a girl, so much like ice. Her existence was beautiful but cold at the same time she was like a rose, a white rose, preached on the highest branch of the tree. Then one day, she felt a brilliant aura surround her. She saw a beautiful creature pass by her. And you know what? She fell in love. She fell onto the ground. She dreamed during the day, her soft petals closed, and woke at night, her petals in full bloom. She didn't mind being trampled by shoes- sneakers, boots, heels. All of them. She didn't mind staining her white petals. One day, she again saw the creature. She beamed brightly and bloomed again. But, the creature trampled over her. Kicked her aside. She wilted, her petals fell off. She just wanted the creature to notice her. But it didn't. And you know what? She closed the eyes and let the misery overwhelm her. She was buried in the brown soil. Fairy tales, aren't true my child, fairy tales aren't true...
(I wrote this quote, just because I saw hundreds of people suffering from heartbreak, their souls shattered. May be, I acting like an non-optimistic person saying that fairy tales don't exist, but in my opinion, it is true.)