That's The Duty Of The Old, To

Tell Them Stories. They Need The Truth You Must Tell Them True Stories, And Everything Will Be Well, Just Tell Them Stories.

The Sight Filled The Northern Sky; The Immensity Of It Was Scarcely Conceivable. As If From Heaven Itself, Great Curtains Of Delicate Light Hung And Trembled. Pale Green And Rose-pink, And As Transparent As The Most Fragile Fabric, And At The Bottom Edge A Profound Fiery Crimson Like The Fires Of Hell, They Swung And Shimmered Loosely With More Grace Than The Most Skillful Dancer.

I Don't Know Where My Ideas Come From, But I Know Where They Come To. They Come To My Desk, And If I'm Not There, They Go Away Again.

I Think It's Perfectly Possible To Explain How The Universe Came About Without Bringing God Into It, But I Don't Know Everything, And There May Well Be A God Somewhere, Hiding Away. Actually, If He Is Keeping Out Of Sight, It's Because He's Ashamed Of His Followers And All The Cruelty And Ignorance They're Responsible For Promoting In His Name. If I Were Him, I'd Want Nothing To Do With Them.

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.