“I wouldn’t make fun of someone’s nightmares until you’ve slept a night in his pajamas.”
“That’s how fear grows. When you keep it locked inside and never let it out, it starts to eat you alive.”
“Do you know why people think nightmares aren’t real?” Charlie was too confused to answer. Something had changed. This nightmare was different from the rest. The witch had never spoken to him like this before. “Because most people wake up,” the witch continued. “Their spirits come here when they sleep and their bodies stay safe and sound in your world until morning.” She leaned in closer. “But you know what I’ve figured out? I’ve figured out how to bring your body here to the Netherworld too.”
“Mi sa che ti hanno mentito,
se ti hanno detto che gli incubi non sono veri.”
“Se fossi in te, non prenderei in giro gli incubi degli altri senza aver dormito una notte nel loro pigiama.”
“Dabney is convinced that the Dream Realm exists. That’s why he’s such a thorn in the president’s side. Dabney says our job isn’t to keep humans scared. Our job is to help humans face their fears. And if we do our jobs well, we deserve to retire. The Dream Realm is our reward.”
“As soon as Jack had squeezed around the boxes and out the door, Charlie pulled the covers back up to his chin and thought about what the witch had said. I’ve never seen anyone as scared as you, Charlie Laird. Was it true?”
“The plan, my fellow nightmares, is simple. One—find the boy. Two—keep the portal open. Three—conquer the Waking World. Four—try a Krispy Kreme doughnut. Five—never die.”
“La paura è come il catrame,
si appiccica dappertutto e divora ogni cosa.”
“E' così che cresce la paura.
Se la tieni chiusa dentro senza farla mai uscire comincia a divorarti vivo.”
“Non importa di cosa hai paura, importa il perché ne hai paura.
Gli incubi sono le paure della gente camuffate.”
“Solo i deboli hanno bisogno di far sentire piccoli gli altri.”
“The plan is not wanting in grandeur; I see but one impediment.”
“What is it?”
“Impossibility.”
“Truth to tell, it was a bit difficult for him at first to get used to such limitations, but later it somehow became a habit and went better; he even accustomed himself to going entirely without food in the evenings; but instead he was nourished spiritually, bearing in his thoughts the eternal idea of the future overcoat. From then on it was as if his very existence became somehow fuller, as if he were married, as if some other person were there with him, as if he were not alone but some pleasant life's companion had agreed to walk down the path of life with him––and this companion was none other than that same overcoat with its cotton-wool quilting, with its sturdy lining that knew no wear.”
“Of course, he showed me this one afternoon when he was skipping class. When trolls cut classes, you think they are losers. When the beautiful and/or reasonably erudite do the same thing to sit on the library steps and read poetry, you think they are on to something deep. You see only deep brown wavy hair and strong legs, well honed by years of Ultimate Frisbee. You see that book of T. S. Eliot poems held by the hand with the long, graceful fingers, and you never stop to think that it shouldn't take half a semester to read one book of poems... that maybe he is not so much reading as getting really high every morning and sleeping it off on the library steps, forcing the people who actually go to class to step or trip over him.”
“Hey, it's ten in the morning!' says Person, yelling at two farmers dressed in robes in the distance. 'Don't you think you ought to change out of your pajamas?”
“Looking back upon millennia of history, it appears clear that no race or culture has monopoly on wartime cruelty. The veneer of civilization seems to be exceedingly thin – one that can be easily stripped away, especially by the stresses of war.”
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