Best 30 quotes of H. S. Crow on MyQuotes

As long as we have children seeking unrealistic dreams, anything is possible.

A violinist fiddled. With strings resined for winter. Summer's light splintered.

Being a writer means helping others through your experiences. It is giving the reader the chance to take in something new, or something they may wish to brave. It is a loving and hostile touch, a patient and eager ghost, and above all... a test of time.

Be terrified. Nothing in life is certain. It does not owe you anything, and if it decides to take something from you it will. You must accept this truth. Accept the dreadful possibility that your blind optimism is merely a fancied lie.

Books bear the dreary whisper of an author's memory, a phantom of dreams and mares woven from lessons. Read and explore a life beyond your own, one where forgotten names triumph and fall, and where love and hate crumble the hardest hearts. There is power in words. It can alter the living, immortalize the dead, and forge Gods.

Drift into the Eversea.

Fairies are just girls with glitter in their veins

I will wait for you until the gold from the sun dwindles away.

Little dove, tread carefully in your dreams. You are not alone in them. Others seek them too.

Long ago, there was a dream within a dream that allowed joy to reign, but that youthful breath drifted away as swiftly as a summer rain. There was nothing left after the dawn, except for a world darkened by a King’s broken heart. Now only Morpheus induced silhouettes dance in these lightless plains. They dance in sequence to the sound of time – unmoved by existence – trapped in a single thought I hope lies within you.

Moonless nights haunt me. They evoke my once carefree life when I dreamed without doubt to what my future could be. I yearn for a time when my mother’s tree swayed beneath the dusk like an amber sea, but the past is locked without a key. Never to return—only flee.

Moonless nights haunt me. They evoke remembrances of a carefree life when I dreamed without doubt to what my future could be. I yearn for a time when my mother’s tree swayed beneath the dusk like an amber sea, but the past is locked without a key. Never to return—only flee

Muscles tore and scarlet poured with each swing the dragon could muster and he roared.

Over the obsidian hills and the sunken yellow dale, through the vast oceans of fog and the fires of nevermore, sits the fickle doors of the land of twilight. I will traverse it all, and execute righteous judgment on all that oppose me.

Patience is all we have in a land where time is obsolete. I press on, armored stranger. I am not deceiving you. The willows have always grown silent in my wake. I see and feel your ailing mind and it worries me. The night that follows you grows stronger. You still have time to change.

Plant love, let it sprout.

Raw anguish slithers through my brittle bones as the deathly call rots the air. Who murdered you old friend? The forest has no words to identify the hand, only erratic echo.

Stars flicker, flash, and fade like we do. They are born and torn apart by entropy, yet we once called them gods. Foolish is it not? Without knowing, we had called the most permanent concept of a being—stars.

Tampering with fire will burn you, even in the coldest regions.

That one doesn’t count. The poor scoundrel is deaf, but he makes a fine sniffer. How do you think we found you?

The elasticity of our dreams can take us to unspoken worlds, but our innate horror of the unknown is what weighs us down. Fight it. Travel to the isolated coils of smoldering dust trapped in our dusky sky or explore the unseen timeless vibration of dancing particles that fashions existence. Whatever choice you make can change your life forever. The same applies to a story. Words are the atoms of a tale, and together they compose a universe.

The magic of a story is when the characters come to life, and defy our expectation.

To write is not just seeing the world through a kaleidoscope of possibilities, but a means to shift the tides of color that exist within it.

We constantly reevaluate our lives with the faded print of the dead, and the fresh ink of the living in search of certainty when doubt runs high.

Well, clearly not. Goodness boss, just look at those filthy paws. I’ve never seen any fish carry paws like those. Usually they are cleaner.

What lives may never surrender

Words have oppressed, and liberated countless. It is a weapon that can be used to inspire and save lives, or discourage and forsake them.

Writing is a sacred calling that pulls at the soul. It is the air you breathe. It flows through the veins like a carmine river, and pumps the heart. It is a part of you. Putting a pen between shaky fingers over the unknown vistas of pale opportunity is not for the faint of heart. It is an enduring struggle that takes control of you.

You are sorrow. You exist, even if joy is present. You’re not like them. You’re not like any other emotion. Hate and fear come and go, but you exist even when the breeze is clear of sadness. You are permanent and needed.

You deny the existence of magic. It's tragic. Aren't you a child born from the ashes of stars? Born from light to decide a life?