Best 153 of Legend quotes - MyQuotes
Victory is in our hands! It's time for our legends to begin! Don't tremble, and don't you dare cry! Come on, show some energy!
Tis said if you will but cast a desire under the crescent moon as stars cross its path, your wish will always come true.
Those who put their heart and soul into something bigger than themselves, never die from the psyche of humanity.
Jorge Luis Borges
Danten kommentaattori Tomaso Casini muistuttaa tässä yhteydessä toscanalaisesta legendasta, jonka mukaan Herra rankaisi Kainia vangitsemalla tämän kuuhun ja määräten tämän kantamaan piikkistä risukimppua aina päivien loppuun saakka.
You think about sex a lot.” “Next best thing to doing it.
If you want to get results in your life try with comedy... first pressure then apply comedy. Always it shallow the shitty life-pressure!
Ilse V. Rensburg
It was a myth, a fantastical portrayal of my mentor himself, his legend forever anchoring itself to history in a way mine will never be. Spring Heeled Jack, the boogeyman with eyes like fireballs who could jump unnaturally high. Breathing blue flames he'd ravage women with his claws.
Yet, thousands of africans and young african youths have failed to acknowledge the importance of what madiba gave them. To me, he be called " the pride in black skin and the freedom we are enjoying
myths reflect centuries of oral tradition in non-literate as well as literate peoples – when it comes to the supernatural, there's no beating folklore.” - Breena Malloy from Bitter Frost by Kailin Gow
When Compasia took pity on me, she reached down into the Underworld, touched the shoulder of Moritas, and asked her forgiveness. Then Compasia took my sister in her arms and placed her in the sky, where she, too, turned to stardust. Magiano looks at me, his eyes wide. It seems as if he already, somehow, understands. “My goddess made me a promise,” I whisper. Only now do I realize that I have never seen him cry before. In the stories, Compasia and her human lover would descend each night from the stars to walk the mortal world, before vanishing with the dawn. So, together, we stare at the sky, waiting.
Clint’s body count was now up to five—six including the vegetable. Killing was becoming a habit, and Clint realized that it was starting to bother him less each time. He feared that he was becoming desensitized to death, too accustomed to killing.
As fantastical as Caraval might feel, the next five nights are very real.
Fantasy, myth, legend, truth - all are intertwined in the story that is Scotland.
My life became the lives of Day and June, and through them I saw my own fears, hopes and aspirations play out across their canvas. Now I've reached the point where our stories diverge. They are off to live beyond the confines of the trilogy; I am left waving to them from the sidelines. I don't know where they'll go but I think they're going to be okay.
To walk in the footsteps of the great, put on their shoes.
She is a figure of legend and fairy tale, one to be taken seriously, or she might knock you off your feet with a quick whirl of the staff she carries everywhere.
Fairy tales, fantasy, legend and myth...these stories, and their topics, and the symbolism and interpretation of those topics...these things have always held an inexplicable fascination for me," she writes. "That fascination is at least in part an integral part of my character — I was always the kind of child who was convinced that elves lived in the parks, that trees were animate, and that holes in floorboards housed fairies rather than rodents. You need to know that my parents, unlike those typically found in fairy tales — the wicked stepmothers, the fathers who sold off their own flesh and blood if the need arose — had only the best intentions for their only child. They wanted me to be well educated, well cared for, safe — so rather than entrusting me to the public school system, which has engendered so many ugly urban legends, they sent me to a private school, where, automatically, I was outcast for being a latecomer, for being poor, for being unusual. However, as every cloud does have a silver lining — and every miserable private institution an excellent library — there was some solace to be found, between the carved oak cases, surrounded by the well–lined shelves, among the pages of the heavy antique tomes, within the realms of fantasy. Libraries and bookshops, and indulgent parents, and myriad books housed in a plethora of nooks to hide in when I should have been attending math classes...or cleaning my room...or doing homework...provided me with an alternative to a reality I didn't much like. Ten years ago, you could have seen a number of things in the literary field that just don't seem to exist anymore: valuable antique volumes routinely available on library shelves; privately run bookshops, rather than faceless chains; and one particular little girl who haunted both the latter two institutions. In either, you could have seen some variation upon a scene played out so often that it almost became an archetype: A little girl, contorted, with her legs twisted beneath her, shoulders hunched to bring her long nose closer to the pages that she peruses. Her eyes are glued to the pages, rapt with interest. Within them, she finds the kingdoms of Myth. Their borders stand unguarded, and any who would venture past them are free to stay and occupy themselves as they would.
When the serpent is slithering inside, you will know it, but only with the gift will you understand how it lives and how it dies.
The monster, Hitler, died like Uther, frightened, hiding, haunted by his crimes and his wholly reasonable belief that all decent human beings would turn their backs on him. Who really cares where Hitler’s bones lie, or how he died, as long as he is safely dead? Now, in the twenty-first century, Karl Marx’s grave in a London cemetery is no longer a rallying cry to the poisoned idea that the end justifies the means. We shall never know for certain where Arthur lies, or if he even lived. If he was a myth, then it was necessary for human beings to invent him. Hail, Arthur, King of the Britons! I wish another hero would take your place, now that the west has such a need of you.
If the ravens leave the Tower, Britain will fall.
Then she saw me watching her. For perhaps two seconds our eyes met and held. I knew then why the ancients armed the cruellest god with arrows; I felt the shock of it right through my body.
If you want to become a legend go and read the books
That’s the funny thing about guns; even untrained hands can feel powerful using them. But take that gun away and you’re left with nothing but a coward whose only skill is how to blindly pull a trigger.
To be a hero holds honor but to be a legend is to live forever.
songs, to me, were more important than just light entertainment. They were my preceptor and guide into some altered consciousness of reality. Some different republic, some liberated republic... whatever the case, it wasn't that I was anti-popular culture or anything and I had no ambition to stir things up. I just thought of mainstream culture as lame as hell and a big trick. It was like the unbroken sea of frost that lay outside the window and you had to have awkward footgear to walk with.
You will get your father's wealth one day but not his legacy.
Other dragons are bastards. I moved out of my mother's cave after my mother tried to rip my guts out. Granted, I had tried to steal her Tiara of Clairvoyance.
There was carpet under Blanchefleur’s feet and the scent of clean and delicate things in her nostrils—perfume, babies, soap, and tea. Homesickness hit her like a clenched fist; this was worse than memory.
The first time she saw the boy across the classroom, Ah Lee knew she was in love because she tasted durian on her tongue.
So, how close are love and genius, really? We know that they are both mentioned far more than lived.
But a woman should not marry where there is no respect. Respect is the most important thing.
Hans Christian Andersen
The good and the beautiful is not forgotten; it lives in legend and in song.
I brought seaweed snacks from home,' chimed in another kid. "Seaweed got iron, right?" 'I don't think the teachers meant that kind of iron,' said Hui Ann.
The stories that grow up around a king are strong vines with a fierce grip.
After visiting these two places (Berchtesgaden and the Eagle's lair on Obersalzberg) you can easily see how that within a few years Hitler will emerge from the hatred that surrounds him now as one of the most significant figures who ever lived. He had boundless ambition for his country, which rendered him a menace to the peace of the world, but he had a mystery about him in the way that he lived and in the manner of his death that will live and grow after him. He had in him the stuff of which legends are made.
Storytellers seldom let facts get in the way of perpetuating a legend, although a few facts add seasoning and make the legend more believable.
We study," said Serbitar. "And we train, and we plant flowers and raise horses. Our time is well occupied, I can assure you." "No wonder you want to go away and die somewhere," said Rek with feeling.
His fingers trailed a path on her skin down her back. “Have I found a pleasure spot?” he asked while tugging her gown free from her shoulders. Eve glanced over her should. The look she gave him pierced his soul. “Everywhere you touch give me pleasure.
Sounds like I’m the man of your dreams…
[Northrop] Frye was concerned mostly with literary criticism, and myths interested him as structural elements in works of literature. He used the word myth to mean story, without attaching any connotation of truth or falsehood to it; but a myth is a story of a certain kind. The myths of a culture are those stories it takes seriously—the ones that are thought to be a key to its identity.
Break yourself, if needed, for a greater purpose, and die like a legend, instead of crawling your whole life like a mind-less insect.
Anecdotes came with his DNA.
I set about seeking a thread, a theme, a style, in the realm of legend. Something that might allow me to give free rein to my juvenile sense of romanticism and the beautiful image.
He would gaze at her with intrigued longan seed eyes.
Once, a Whimsical poet died of despair after finding himself unequal to the task of capturing a fair one's beauty in simile. I think it more likely he died of arsenic poisoning, but so the story goes.
You are the first of your kind. Books will be written about you. Be the legend you are meant to be. - Astral
People believe that Noah's Ark is a legend when we are already apart of this legend, look around what do you see?
Once upon a time, when the evil spirit of darkness reigned over the Land of Azerbaijan, hiding the sun inside his underground caves, When the orphan sky peered at the Caucasus Mountains from the black dome of sorrow, When the rain shed its tears of ice upon the barren earth…
Beer gurgled through the beard. 'You see,' the young man began, 'the desert's so big you can't be alone in it. Ever notice that? It's all empty and there's nothing in sight, but there's always something moving over there where you can't quite see it. It's something very dry and thin and brown, only when you look around it isn't there. Ever see it?' 'Optical fatigue -' Tallant began. 'Sure. I know. Every man to his own legend. There isn't a tribe of Indians hasn't got some way of accounting for it. You've heard of the Watchers? And the twentieth-century white man comes along, and it's optical fatigue. Only in the nineteenth century things weren't quite the same, and there were the Carkers.' 'You've got a special localized legend?' 'Call it that. You glimpse things out of the corner of your mind, same like you glimpse lean, dry things out of the corner of your eye. You incase 'em in solid circumstance and they're not so bad. That is known as the Growth of Legend. The Folk Mind in Action. You take the Carkers and the things you don't quite see and put 'em together. And they bite.' Tallant wondered how long that beard had been absorbing beer. 'And what were the Carkers?' he prompted politely. 'Ever hear of Sawney Bean? Scotland - reign of James the First or maybe the Sixth, though I think Roughead's wrong on that for once. Or let's be more modern - ever hear of the Benders? Kansas in the 1870's? No? Ever hear of Procrustes? Or Polyphemus? Or Fee-fi-fo-fum? 'There are ogres, you know. They're no legend. They're fact, they are. The inn where nine guests left for every ten that arrived, the mountain cabin that sheltered travelers from the snow, sheltered them all winter till the melting spring uncovered their bones, the lonely stretches of road that so many passengers traveled halfway - you'll find 'em everywhere. All over Europe and pretty much in this country too before communications became what they are. Profitable business. And it wasn't just the profit. The Benders made money, sure; but that wasn't why they killed all their victims as carefully as a kosher butcher. Sawney Bean got so he didn't give a damn about the profit; he just needed to lay in more meat for the winter. 'And think of the chances you'd have at an oasis.' 'So these Carkers of yours were, as you call them, ogres?' 'Carkers, ogres - maybe they were Benders. The Benders were never seen alive, you know, after the townspeople found those curiously butchered bodies. There's a rumor they got this far West. And the time checks pretty well. There wasn't any town here in the 80s. Just a couple of Indian families - last of a dying tribe living on at the oasis. They vanished after the Carkers moved in. That's not so surprising. The white race is a sort of super-ogre, anyway. Nobody worried about them. But they used to worry about why so many travelers never got across this stretch of desert. The travelers used to stop over at the Carkers, you see, and somehow they often never got any further. Their wagons'd be found maybe fifteen miles beyond in the desert. Sometimes they found the bones, too, parched and white. Gnawed-looking, they said sometimes.' 'And nobody ever did anything about these Carkers?' 'Oh, sure. We didn't have King James the Sixth - only I still think it was the First - to ride up on a great white horse for a gesture, but twice there were Army detachments came here and wiped them all out.' 'Twice? One wiping-out would do for most families.' Tallant smiled at the beery confusion of the young man's speech. 'Uh-huh, That was no slip. They wiped out the Carkers twice because you see once didn't do any good. They wiped 'em out and still travelers vanished and still there were white gnawed bones. So they wiped 'em out again. After that they gave up, and people detoured the oasis. ("They Bite")
Make your existence count.