Best 49 quotes in «sandman quotes» category

I wanted to put a reference to masturbation in one of the scripts for the Sandman. It was immediately cut by the editor [Karen Berger]. She told me, "There's no masturbation in the DC Universe." To which my reaction was, "Well, that explains a lot about the DC Universe.

Give the devil his due.

It's astonishing how much trouble one can get oneself into, if one works at it. And astonishing how much trouble one can get oneself out of, if one assumes that everything will, somehow or other, work out for the best.

A major defining factor was my wanting him to be part of the DC Universe. Because if someone as powerful as the Sandman was running all the dreams in the world, a natural question would be “Why haven’t we heard about him by now?” The answer I came up with was “He’s been locked away.” And that solution formed an image in my head of a naked man in a glass cell. My next question was “How long had he been trapped there?” The movie Awakenings hadn’t been made yet, but I’d read Oliver Sacks’s book a few months earlier, so I knew about the encephalitis lethargica, or “sleepy sickness,” that had swept Europe in 1916. Scientists to this day don’t understand what caused it, and I loved the idea of blaming it on the Sandman’s imprisonment, so I determined the length of his stay to be seventy-two years—ending in late 1988, when the series debuted. And so on; each plot point just seemed to naturally lead to the next one.

I would feel infinitely more comfortable in your presence if you would agree to treat gravity as a law, rather than one of a number of suggested options.

And at times the fact of her absence will hit you like a blow to the chest, and you will weep. But this will happen less and less as time goes on. She is dead. You are alive. So live.

Broken ain't the same as worthless. And sometimes the fix is worse than the break.

A page turns. Destiny continues to walk.

Destruction: "Our sister (Death) defines life, just as Despair defines hope, or Desire defines hatred, or as Destiny defines freedom." Dream: "And what I do define by this theory of yours?" Destruction: "Reality, perhaps..

Death has a body like a model, the clothes of a poet and the smile of your best friend. She wears a top hat for fun, her ankh necklace for power, and carries a big black umbrella for travelling to the 'sunless lands.' I wonder what she smells like? I'm sure it's fresh and clean and her laugh must be rinkly or maybe it's warm and chuckly, but whatever it is, Death laughs a lot. We talk about the 'miracle of birth' but what about the 'miracle of death'? We have the science of death pretty much figured out, but death's magic and inevitability have been feared and ignored for a long time now. What if Death is a person?

[Dream] I do not want a grape. [Desire] I could make you want one.

DREAM ! Dreams shape the world . Dreams create the world anew, every night. Do not dream the world the way it is now, in thrall to our feline masters and mistresses

He's a nightmare," she said. "I can be, too." Rook answered, his red eyes glowing. "Just try me.

Everything created has a beginning, Destiny of the Endless...as everything created has an end.

For there was nothing in his eyes but the black night and the cold stars.

He was a creature of hope. For dreams are hopes, and echoes of hopes. And I am a creature of despair.

I don't really like driving in the snow. There's something about the motion of the falling snowflakes that hurts my eyes, throws my sense of balance all to hell. It's like tumbling into a field of stars.

His dad's eyes were getting darker. "How bad is it really?" Very bad. Too many fronts to fight. Bur for starters... "That big storm out east?" Jordan and Rook had gone to investigate... "That's the Sandman in the waking world." His dad frowned deeply. He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know what that means." Yeah, well... "Neither do we.

I am not in my gallery and neither do I hold your sigil. Will you speak to me?

I don't know. I had to be something, didn't I?

I keep telling you: it's the mystery that endures. Not the explanation

If anyone comes, shoot first, ask questions later.

I know how Gods begin, Roger. We start as Dreams. Then we walk out of Dreams into the Land. We are worshiped and loved, and take power to ourselves. And then, one day, there's no one left to worship us. And in the end, each little God and Goddess takes its last journey back into Dreams... and what comes after, not even WE know. I'm going to dance now, I'm afraid.

I love the beach, everything except the fucking sand, the fucking sun, and the fucking water

In quiet moments I can easily believe my spirit's so toxic, so noxious, that it repels people like the stench of rot. Better to keep to myself. Easier to push folks away than to watch them learn to hate you.

I'm not going to heal. Not if healing means shrugging your shoulders and saying 'Life goes on'. Life doesn't go on.

I want to wake up!" a young woman shouted to the classroom ceiling. With her wide-set eyes and freckles, she looked like a nice person. Then a knobby-boned creature advanced on her. But she couldn't wake. And she likely wouldn't ever again.

Is she okay?" Harlen's throat was clogged with stones of fear. "She has to be okay.

Is there a word for forgetting the name of someone when you want to introduce them to someone else at the same time you realize you've forgotten the name of the person you're introducing them to as well?" "No.

Lucifer: The million lords of hell stand arrayed about you. Tell us, why we should let you leave? Helmet or no, you have no power here - what power have dreams in Hell? Dream: Tell me, Lucifer Morningstar [...] what power would Hell have if those here imprisoned were not able to dream of Heaven?

Love takes hostages.

Of course, the truth is that no one likes change. People in hell not only refuse to leave it, they invite you in, too. Even people who have blasted the other lives that touched their own blasted lives proudly declare in old age that they would not change a thing -- all that cursing and screaming was their life, by God, and it is not possible to imagine any other. Change introduces unpredictability, uncertainty, a universe of disorder. Right before an amoeba splits in two, it says to itself, uh uh, no way, I ain't gonna do that, nope.

Nothing is immune to Time. Not even eternity.

On a long enough timeline, every story ends. Lives always fail. Love always fades. And every secret learned is one less thing to dream about.

Red light flickered behind her closed eyelids, and when she opened them, she discovered that they were surrounded by flames. Let it burn.... His sleek brow wrinkled, and he shook his head. Poor man looked conflicted, which was an interesting expression on a nightmare. "Your city is on fire." She smiled languidly. "Ain't it grand?

Seek not revenge, but the Buddha.

What win I if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy?

Sempre quis saber o que aconteceu com as crianças depois que voaram para longe... Eram apenas gente de mentira, não de verdade. Mas não significa que não tenham histórias.

Some things are too big to be seen; some emotions too huge to be felt.

¿Te has enamorado alguna vez? ¿Horrible verdad? Te hace tan vulnerable...Te abre el pecho hasta tu corazón y eso significa que alguien puede entrar dentro de ti y liarla.

The Agora had fallen, too. Vince turned the radio off, dismissing what they'd just heard, and merged onto I-87. A little shriek of madness sounded in the back of his brain, but he said, with admirable calm considering, "Seriously, love, I think we've got this.

The sandpaper of Greg's laugh fascinated Lexi as much as it frightened her. It was why she always thought of him as the Sandman, an interpretation not as sinister as E. T. A. Hoffman's but one that seemed to match, suddenly, in its role as a harbinger of death. Greg's voice rebounded around the building, dry and abrasive. Mirthless laughter is one of mankind's trademark noises. It's been used to mask pain for centuries.

They talk of me going around buying souls, like a fishwife come market day, never stopping to ask themselves why. I need no souls. And how can anyone own a soul? No. They belong to themselves...they just hate to face up to it.

Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot.

You hurt. It's okay. I hurt too. Hold my hand.

When the first living thing existed, I was there, waiting.

Without warning a lady appeared. She came from the direction of Friday-street, for she had just been with Mr. Newbolt. She strode capably through the snow. She wore a black silk gown and something very queer swung from a silver chain about her neck. Her smile was full of comfort and her eyes were kind and happy. She was just as Mr. Newbolt had described. And the name of this lady was Death.

You do that, and you'll be wishing for death before her body even hits the ground. The Gatekeeper is coming. Executioner for the Feral Breed, brother to the Beast, and mated to the woman you hold against her will. You've fucked up, friend.

You lived what anybody gets, Bernie. You got a lifetime. No more. No less.