There was something magical about an island- the mere word suggested fantasy. You lost touch with the world- an island was a world of its own. A world, perhaps, from which you might never return.
He thought, "I'm leaving my ordinary life behind me."
And, smiling to himself, he began to make plans, fantastic plans for the future. He was still smiling when he walked up the rock-cut steps.
"She’s alone, they kept telling themselves, and surely she danced in no one’s arms, yet somehow that seemed to matter less and less. As the night went on, and clarinet and coyote call mingled beyond the lantern light, the magic of their own powder-blue jackets and orchids seemed to fade, and it came to them in small sensations that they were more alone than she was."
"You’ll meet her. She’s very pretty, even though sometimes she’s sad for many days at a time. You’ll see, when she smiles, you’ll love her."
Pan’s Labryrinth (via