I liked myths. They weren’t adult stories and they weren’t children’s stories. They were better than that. They just were. Adult stories never made sense, and they were slow to start. They made me feel like there were secrets, masonic, mythic secrets to adulthood. Why didn’t adults want to read about Narnia, about secret islands and smugglers and dangerous fairies?
- The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman, pg. 71-72