Zilpha Keatley Snyder Quotes

I wouldn't know what to do with [colour]. Colour to me is too real. It's limiting. It doesn't allow too much of a dream. The more you throw black into a colour, the more dreamy it gets… Black has depth. It's like a little egress; you can go into it, and because it keeps on continuing to be dark, the mind kicks in, and a lot of things that are going on in there become manifest. And you start seeing what you're afraid of. You start seeing what you love, and it becomes like a dream.

It's a dark, cool, quiet place. A basement in your soul. And that place can sometimes be dangerous to the human mind. I can open the door and enter that darkness, but I have to be very careful. I can find my story there. Then I bring that thing to the surface, into the real world.

The real world is where the monsters are.

Where we're standing right now, in the ruins in the dark, what we build could be anything.

The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places.

My imagination will get me a passport to hell one day.

But sometimes, maybe most times, it isn't that clear. It is dark and you are near the edge of a cliff, but you're moving slowly, not sure which direction you're heading in. Your steps are tentative but they are still blind in the night. You don't realize how close you are to the edge, how the soft earth could give away, how you could just slip a bit and suddenly plunge into the dark.

Imagination, of course, can open any door - turn the key and let terror walk right in.

Throw away the light, the definitions, and say what you see in the dark.

What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney?

I was woundering what he would say, what word could sum me up right then, when i saw the lights come across his face, blaringly yellow, and suddenly he was brighter, and brighter, and i asked him what was happening, what was wrong. I remember only that light, so strong it spilled across my shoulders, and lit up his face, and how scared he looked as something big and loud hit my door, sending glass shattering across me, little sparks catching the light like diamonds, as they fell, with me, into the dark.

The walls of the arch are covered with blood-red jellies that wink and glisten at me by the light of the moon. My father told me they were completely harmless. I don't believe him. Nothing is completely harmless.

Show me the path I must walk and do not let me stumble in the dark places that lie ahead.

I can remember a couple of real fights when I ran. Because they were kinda dangerous.

Suppose, my dear Chadd, suppose it is we who are the idiots because we are not afraid of devils in the dark?

He does not need opium. He has the gift of reverie.

For a while they stood there, like men on the edge of a sleep where nightmare lurks, holding it off, though they know that they can only come to morning through the shadows.

Oh, we can populate the dark with horrors, even we who think ourselves informed and sure, believing nothing we cannot measure or weigh. I know beyond all doubt that the dark things crowding in on me either did not exist or were not dangerous to me, and still I was afraid.

The imagination is closer to the actor than real life-more agreeable, more comfortable.

I am the shadow on the moon at night/Filling your dreams to the brim with fright.

...and the night is so deep and dark that I wonder if the sun will ever come up.

I try to maintain a healthy dose of daydreaming, to remain sane.

Day and night I always dream with open eyes." - José Martí

For the night is dark and full of terrors.