Natalie Keller Reinert

“Modern racetracks were consigned to industrial wastelands. One hundred and fifty years ago, Saratoga decided to make it the centerpiece of their town. ”
― Natalie Keller Reinert, Other People's Horses

“of”
― Natalie Keller Reinert, Luck

“With horses, there were no guarantees. You worked yourself raw and hoped until your heart hurt just for a little heat in a foreleg to derail everything.”
― Mara Dabrishus, Finding Daylight

“Maybe that’s the nameless quality I’m always trying to pinpoint - it’s not about how a horse looks, it’s about how they make you feel. Nobody can put a finger on that.”
― Grace Wilkinson, Loxwood

“The little island seemed to float on the dark lake-waters. Trees grew on it, and a little hill rose in the middle of it. It was a mysterious island, lonely and beautiful. All the children stood and gazed at it, loving it and longing to go to it. It looked so secret - almost magic.
“Well,” said Jack at last. “What do you think? Shall we run away, and live on the secret island?”
“Yes!” whispered all the children.
“Let’s!”
― Enid Blyton, The Secret Island

“The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real ... for a moment at least ... that long magic moment before we wake.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to middle Earth.”
― George R.R. Martin