Pan's Labyrinth: The Labyrinth of the Faun

by Guillermo del Toro

Evil seldom takes shape immediately. It is often little more than a whisper at first. A glance. A betrayal. But then it grows and takes root, still invisible, unnoticed. Only fairy tales give evil a proper shape.

“Fifteen minutes,” muttered Vidal, who, like all monsters—like Death—was always punctual.

In consiliis nostris fatum nostrum est, the words read. “In our choices lie our fate.”

Sometimes the objects we hold dear give away who we are even more than the people we love.

Only books talked about all the things adults didn’t want you to ask about—Life. Death. Good and Evil. And what else truly mattered in life.

the king’s favorite fool dared to joke that his master was only obsessed with timepieces because he was afraid of death and hoped that by measuring time he could keep it away.

To choose freedom comes with a high price.

Sometimes even the healers are turned into butchers by the darkness of this world.

The worst fears are always underneath us, hidden, shaking the ground we wish to be firm and safe.

We feel immortal when we are young. Or maybe we just don’t care that much about death yet?

The entry wound cried a single tear of blood. Such an insignificant wound, but Death was nesting in it.