The function of a book or a poem or a story is to delight, to enchant, to beguile.
Philip PullmanRead
She was riding a bear! And the Aurora was swaying above them in golden arcs and loops, and all around was the bitter Arctic cold and the immense silence of the North.
Interpretation
The quote evokes a surreal and magical image of adventure amidst the stark beauty of the Arctic landscape.
In this quote, Philip Pullman presents a vivid scene where a character rides a bear under the enchanting Aurora Borealis, contrasting the warmth of the magical experience with the cold, harsh reality of the Arctic. This juxtaposition highlights the wonder of nature and the thrill of exploration, suggesting that even in the most extreme environments, extraordinary experiences can occur.
In practice
During a motivational speech, to illustrate the beauty of embracing the unknown.
The function of a book or a poem or a story is to delight, to enchant, to beguile.
Education and health were always matters of charity. You educated children and you helped the sick because they were good things to do, not because you were going to make money out of them. If you let the money-making principle, the profit-seeking motive, anywhere near education and health, things go bad.
To get the best out of life here ...Good grief. There's plenty of it about, so indulge. Give yourself some thing to remember. Fall in love. Fall out of love. Gamble. Get drunk. See how long you can stay awake. Go for long walks at night. Discover what you're afraid of doing, and then do it.
People should decide on the books' meanings for themselves. They'll find a story that attacks such things as cruelty, oppression, intolerance, unkindness, narrow-mindedness, and celebrates love, kindness, open-mindedness, tolerance, curiosity, human intelligence.
I told him I was going to betray you, and betray Lyra, and he believed me because I was corrupt and full of wickedness; he looked so deep I felt sure he'd see the truth. But I lied too well. I was lying with every nerve and fiber and everything I'd ever done...I wanted him to find no good in me, and he didn't. There is none.
Lyra learns to her great cost that fantasy isn’t enough. She has been lying all her life, telling stories to people, making up fantasies, and suddenly she comes to a point where that’s not enough. All she can do is tell the truth. She tells the truth about her childhood, about the experiences she had in Oxford, and that is what saves her. True experience, not fantasy - reality, not lies - is what saves us in the end.
There are flood and drought over the eyes and in the mouth, dead water and dead sand contending for the upper hand. The parched eviscerate soil gapes at the vanity of toil, laughs without mirth. This is the death of the earth.
It is the abiding concern of thinking people to preserve what keeps men human-to save our contact with nature of which we are a part.
Our fantastic civilization has fallen out of touch with many aspects of nature, and with none more completely than with night.
Ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and freighted with the memories and the dreams of Time.
The Amen of nature is always a flower.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal.
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