Just As The Setting Sun

No Architect Troubled To Design Houses That Suited People Who Were To Live In Them, Because That Would Have Meant Building A Whole Range Of Different Houses. It Was Far Cheaper And, Above All, Timesaving To Make Them Identical.

Bastian Had Climbed A Dune Of Purplish-red Sand And All Around Him He Saw Nothing But Hill After Hill Of Every Imaginable Color. Each Hill Revealed A Shade Or Tint That Occured In No Other. The Nearest Was Cobalt Blue, Another Was Saffron Yellow, Then Came Crimson Red, Then Indigo, Apple Green, Sky Blue, Orange, Peach, Mauve, Turquoise Blue, Lilac, Moss Green, Ruby Red, Burnt Umber, Indian Yellow, Vermillion, Lapis Lazuli, And So On From Horizon To Horizon. And Between The Hill, Separating Color From Color, Flowed Streams Of Gold And Silver Sand.

Every Real Story Is A Never Ending Story.

Once Someone Dreams A Dream, It Can't Just Drop Out Of Existence. But If The Dreamer Can't Remember It, What Becomes Of It?

Once Someone Dreams A Dream, It Can't Just Drop Out Of Existence. But If The Dreamer Can't Remember It, What Becomes Of It? It Lives On In Fantastica, Deep Under Earth. There Are Forgotten Dreams Stored In Many Layers. The Deeper One Digs, The Closer They Are. All Fantastica Rests On A Foundation Of Forgotten Dreams.