The twin suns sink beneath the lake,
The shadows lengthen
Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies,
But stranger still is
Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Song of my soul, my voice is dead,
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
"This place is... broken. It is a land of twisted time and distorted sky — the space between the tick and the tock. Space itself snaps and falls into an endless, neverending abyss from which there is no recovery. You could walk with eyes closed and never touch walls; it is only in the viewing of walls that there are walls at all."
"To be honest, you probably shouldn't look around too carefully. True miracles can overwhelm and terrify mortal minds. If you dwell on what you see here, you might stop climbing."
— Yune, Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn
"We're talking about a higher order of reality... The world they come from, the world I come from, has... more of everything. I don't think you understand yet; the light of Heaven would slash open your corneas. The music of Heaven would puncture your eardrums and drive you insane. The air of heaven would burst your lungs and boil your blood. Only spirit can bear Heaven's touch."
— Zauriel, "Murder Mysteries"
"Bravo. Bra-vo. No mortal has ever made it to Tartarus before. Well, alive that is. Make yourselves at home."
"'This place we're flying over now isn't in the atlas, is it?' the pilot said, grinning.
'You're darn right it isn't in the atlas!' cried the head of the Air Force. 'We've flown clear off the last page!'"
— The BFG
"Imagine a crown of thorns, twisted, dark and unreflective, grown too thickly tangled to ever rest on any human head. Put it in orbit around a failed star whose own reflected half-light does little more than throw its satellites into silhouette. Occasional bloody highlights glinted like dim embers from its twists and crannies; they only emphasized the darkness everywhere else.
Imagine an artefact that embodies the very notion of torture, something so wrenched and disfigured that even across uncounted lightyears and unimaginable differences in biology and outlook, you can't help but feel that somehow, the structure itself is in pain.
Now make it the size of a city."
"Ah yes, the mysterious, timeless non-space that lies between the planes. Okay. First imagine the square root of a negative number. Then picture an eleventh-dimensional solid with that many sides that is somehow humming the Flight of the Bumblebee backwards. Then stuff that whole theoretical construct into a temporal bottle rocket and fire it into a sped-up Big Bang of unfettered imagination, and then squash it down to a momentary singularity of nothingness that is somehow simultaneously infinite and eternal at the same time, and somehow both a specific place and the exact opposite of whereness at the same time, and then add a dollop of nacho cheese. Then give up trying to build a mental image of the Blind Eternities because nuh-uh."