Suppose... suppose we have only dreamed and made up these things like sun, sky, stars, and moon, and Aslan himself. In that case, it seems to me that the made-up things are a good deal better than the real ones. And if this black pits of a kingdom is the best you can make, then it's a poor world. And we four can make a dream world to lick your real one hollow.

Puddleglum's my name. But it doesn't matter if you forget it. I can always tell you again.

I fancy that most people who think at all have done a great deal of their thinking in the first fourteen years.

Love, in its own nature, demands the perfecting of the beloved.

Sleeping on a dragon's hoard with greedy, dragonish thoughts in his heart, he had become a dragon himself.

For in Calormen, story-telling (whether the stories are true or made up) is a thing you're taught, just as English boys and girls are taught essay-writing. The difference is that people want to hear the stories, whereas I never heard of anyone who wanted to read the essays.

The grave and the image are equally links with the irrecoverable and symbols for the unimaginable.