It is far easier to believe in a million fairy tales
than to believe in one man who does not like fairy tales.
I would rather kiss Grimm instead of a Bible and swear to all
his stories as if they were thirty-nine articles than say
seriously and out of my heart that there can be such a man as you;
that you are not some temptation of the devil or some delusion
from the void. Look at these plain, homely, practical words.
'The Dragon's Grandmother,' that is all right; that is rational
almost to the verge of rationalism. If there was a dragon,
he had a grandmother. But you--you had no grandmother!
If you had known one, she would have taught you to love fairy tales.
You had no father, you had no mother; no natural causes can explain you.
You cannot be. I believe many things which I have not seen;
but of such things as you it may be said, 'Blessed is he that has
seen and yet has disbelieved.'"

. . . . .

It seemed to me that he did not follow me with sufficient delicacy,
so I moderated my tone. "Can you not see," I said, "that fairy
tales in their essence are quite solid and straightforward;
but that this everlasting fiction about modern life is in its
nature essentially incredible? Folk-lore means that the soul
is sane, but that the universe is wild and full of marvels.
Realism means that the world is dull and full of routine, but that
the soul is sick and screaming. The problem of the fairy tale is--
what will a healthy man do with a fantastic world? The problem
of the modern novel is--what will a madman do with a dull world?
In the fairy tales the cosmos goes mad; but the hero does not go mad.
In the modern novels the hero is mad before the book begins,