John Keats: I had such a dream last night. I was floating above the trees with my lips connected to those of a beautiful figure, for what seemed like an age. Flowery treetops sprung up beneath us and we rested on them with the lightness of a cloud.
Fanny Brawne: Who was the figure?
John Keats: I must have had my eyes closed because I can't remember.
Fanny Brawne: And yet you remember the treetops.
John Keats: Not so well as I remember the lips.
Fanny Brawne: Whose lips? Were they my lips?
Fanny Brawne: I still don't know how to work out a poem.
John Keats: A poem needs understanding through the senses. The point of diving into a lake is not immediately to swim to the shore but to be in the lake, to luxuriate in the sensation of water. You do not work the lake out, it is a experience beyond thought. Poetry soothes and emboldens the soul to accept the mystery.
Fanny Brawne: I love mystery.
Christie Roberts: Max, all I want is to learn about my father. This is my chance to find out who made me and... I don't care if you believe me or not.
Ezylryb: Feel the gutters, the currents in the rain! A scupper! A swillage! Baggywrinkles.
Otulissa: Baggywrinkles? He could have at least given us a vocabulary list.
Gylfie: Soren, we did it.
Soren: Yeah. Yeah, I guess we did. I just hope Allomere finds the owlets.
Ezylryb: Oh, to be a young owl with a taste for adventure, arriving at The Tree for the first time. Well done to hold your own in there. Some more nice strong gizzards. The Tree always needs them.
Soren: He is one strange owl.
Gylfie: I think he might be missing a few talons.
Otulissa: And a good bath. Gross old owl.
Agent Katherine Cowles: Dr. Clancy, before we go upstairs, with all due respect, I don't hold an ounce of confidence in the paranormal in general. I think it's a sham. I hope that's okay.
John Clancy: No problem at all. I feel the same about shrinks. After only one thing, your money. They'll take your whole hand.
Agent Katherine Cowles: Whoever said that has obviously never met a good one.
John Clancy: It was Sigmund Freud.
Sweet Pea: Everyone has an angel. A guardian who watches over us. We can't know what form they'll take One day, old man, next day, little girl. But don't let appearances fool you, they can be as fierce as any dragon. Yet they're not here to fight our battles, but to whisper from our hearts. Reminding that it's us. It's every one of us who holds power over the world we create.
Sweet Pea: Who Honors those we love for the very life we live? Who sends monsters to kill us... And at the same time sings that we'll never die? Who teaches us what's real... And how to laugh at lies? Who decides why we live and what we'll die to defend? Who chains us... And who holds the key that can set us free? It's you. You have all the weapons you need. Now fight!
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