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Quote by Joseph Raphael Becker

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Annabelle & Aiden: Oh, The Things We Believed!

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Joseph Raphael Becker

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“الفانتازيا هي أقدم نوع قصصي عرفه الإنسان، فهي تعد جزء من اللاوعي الجمعي للجنس البشري، وقد امتلأت مخيلة الإنسان البدائي بحكايات عن الآلهة والبشر والسحرة والتنانين والوحوش الخيالية والأسطورية، كما أنهم وضعوا تفسيرات أسطورية للظواهر الطبيعية الغامضة التي وقف الإنسان البدائي حائرًا أمامها، مثل البرق: فهو مطرقة ثور عند الإسكندنافيين، وهو أسهم زيوس عند الإغريق.”

“Connecting the great universal myths of cataclysm, is it possible that such coincidences that cannot be coincidences, and accidents that cannot be accidents, could denote the global influence of an ancient, though as yet unidentified, guiding hand? If so, could it be that same hand, during and after the last Ice Age, which drew the series of highly accurate and technically advanced world maps reviewed in Part I? And might not that same hand have left its ghostly fingerprints on another body of universal myths? those concerning the death and resurrection of gods, and great trees around which the earth and heavens turn, and whirlpools, and churns, and drills, and other similar revolving, grinding contrivances?”

“I don’t know why anyone thinks looking at the stars is so romantic,” he said. “Have they ever read Greek mythology? It’s all the same story—God sees mortal, God desires mortal, mortal suffers gruesome fate and is rewarded with an eternity of pain in the cosmos.” He shrugged. “You could always make up your own stories.” But she was already shaking her head. “No. Those stories are written in stardust millions of years old. I don’t think I get to change them.” “Then I’m thankful for light pollution,” he said.”

“Why has not England a great mythology? Our folklore has never advanced beyond daintiness, and the greater melodies about our country-side have all issued through the pipes of Greece. Deep and true as the native imagination can be, it seems to have failed here. It has stopped with the witches and the fairies. It cannot vivify one fraction of a summer field, or give names to half a dozen stars. England still waits for the supreme moment of her literature—for the great poet who shall voice her, or, better still for the thousand little poets whose voices shall pass into our common talk.”