Best 4069 quotes in «fiction quotes» category

Movie. What's my favorite kind of movie?” “Is there a point to this?” “Please, Lucy. What's my favorite movie?” “Horror. Why?” “No reason,” I sighed as I slouched back in the chair. “And would you stop that! Please? It's distracting,” she said as she slammed her hand down on top of mine to stop me from twirling my ring. I jerked my hand out from under hers so I could cross my arms over my chest. “What's with you today?” Her tone was saturated with distaste. “Nothing.” “Well, you're being awfully annoying for nothing to be wrong,” she retorted. “Go ahead, Josh. I'm listening now.” I could feel the cold emanating from her and flowing in my direction. It had been this way for a while I just didn't want to see it. Danny and Josh looked at me and then awkwardly focused on other things.

Motionless we traverse countries we fancy we see, and your thought, blending with the fiction, playing with the details, follows the outline of the adventures. It mingles with the characters, and it seems as if it were yourself palpitating beneath their costumes.

Ms Rainn, when was the last time you visited a library for the books and not the free Internet it offers?

Mr. Codro's destiny is Ptolemaic; in other words, based on fiction. Ptolemaic says it all; it means above all fixed and unchanging, that is to say different from real life which is by nature changing and temporary. It means: not according to natural truth, but according to man's desire and the pretense inspired by his fear of dying and his desire for permanence.

Mungkin seharusnya aku menulis buku motivasi saja, mengutip ucapan para tokoh besar dunia dan meramunya dengan sedikit kisah perjuanganku menggapai mimpi. Pasar pembaca seperti itu tampaknya lebih luas—ada terlalu banyak orang yang sebentar-sebentar harus disuapi dengan petuah-petuah untuk memulai hari mereka. Mereka akan dengan rakus membeli dan melahap setiap buku-bukuku. Kelaparan mereka akan mengisi penuh pundi-pundiku. Akan tetapi tanganku terasa kaku setiap aku hendak memulai. Bagaimana aku bisa menulis dan menjadi inspirasi buat banyak orang bila aku sendiri merasa hidupku membosankan—dan hidup dalam rasa frustrasi berkepanjangan?

Much later that night, I thought the door opened and a man came into the bedroom. He was leaning on a stick. He didn't say anything but he stood there, looking sadly at Andreas and me, and as a shaft of moonlight came slanting in through the window, I recognized Atticus Pünd. I was asleep, of course, and dreaming, but I remember wondering how he had managed to enter my world before the thought occurred to me that maybe it was I who had entered his.

My attention was like cooking butter, not spreadable at the best of times. And when it was spreadable, it could destroy your toast by setting it ablaze. I was unpredictable, even to myself.

My cat mocks me frequently. It's the universe's way of keeping me from getting too big of an ego.

My body is no longer mine. My soul dormant. I am once again, possessed. www.thethreeimmortalblades.com

My cat has been Petrified.I want to see some punishment!

My breath is halted, like grasping for air after crying far too long and hard. It is like a hiccup, with a shivering sharpness of nerves. It is like icicles running down your spine or aluminum in your mouth, an eerie amount of emotions that cannot compare to the actual feelings you’ve managed to live through. I just watched you die, I say to myself silently.

My creativity keeps me from starving. Humanity keeps my life mundane. Loving secures my love for life, but my imagination keeps me sane.

My father did not bring it up, but of course I knew that he had another reason to worry about my decision to write. Though he was a reader, he was not a lover of fiction, because fiction is not true, and for that flaw it was forever inferior to fact. If reading fiction was a waste of time, so was the writing of it. Why is it, I wonder, that humor didn't count? Wodehouse, for one, whom both of us loved, was a flawless fiction writer.

My father used to say that all protagonists were versions of the author who wrote them—even if it meant the author had to acknowledge a side of himself that he did not know existed. It just required courage.

…My eyes were wet, tears waiting to drop from my eyes and heart started to sob. The words from Jiya pushed me on my back foot…” Source: 'The Unpredictable Heart - You may be a Victim

My eyes have always been advertisements for an early death.

My eyes refuse to let him leave, but he stands still holding my hand, lingering for as long as possible.

My father was a patient father. He was so patient that when he once saw a sign that read ‘Patient Entrance’ at the Welt Foot Hospital, he drove his automobile incredibly slow.

My greatest qualification for writing fiction was my ability, as a child, to lie with a straight face.

My great-great grandfather and I were the best of friends, although we never met

,My head is like a ridiculous barn packed full of stuff I want to write about,’ she said. 'Images, scenes, snatches of words…in my mind they’re all growing, all alive. Write! they shout at me. A great new story is about to be born - I can feel it. It’ll transport me to some brand-new place. Problem is, once I sit at my desk and put them all down on paper, I realize something vital is missing. It doesn’t crystallize - no crystals, just pebbles. And I’m not transported anywhere.

My heart is pounding so crazy fast, I can barely breathe. I feel faint. And Just as I think he’s going for my lips. I brace myself for a hot, wet, romantic kiss. He leans in and presses his lips to my forehead. “Ready to go?” he asks.

My heart is pounding so crazy fast, I can barely breathe. I feel faint. And Just as I think he’s going for my lips. I brace myself for a hot, wet, romantic kiss. He leans in and presses his lips to my forehead. “Ready to go?” he asks.” FUNNY, ADDICTIVE DRAMA "Dancing on My Own.

My heart started racing, not the bad kind of heart racing, like I'm going to die. But the good kind of heart racing, like, Hello, can I help you with something? If not, please step aside because I'm about to kick the shit out of life.

My insanity begged for a distraction. (Eric)

My interests are varied. They include natural history, lady detectives, and good hygiene,” I said with a significant lift of the brows towards his feet. “What in seven hells does that mean?” he demanded. “It means that if you come to bed smelling like something from a barnyard again, I will scrub you myself with rose soap and a firm hand,” I threatened.

My life is not glamorous. I have no intention for it to be. I've seen enough real life TV series about the emotional price of "high end" shoes, the carving disappointment of documenting every cash withdrawal on lunch, dinner and beautified / colorized apparel, about the political correctness underwired in social media protesting instead of voting. Something about me feels more sympathy towards the guy who went for canned beer and cigarettes in the backyard at 2 pm rather than your 5 cents.

My job takes up many daylight hours, it wakes me in the still of night and fills my head with ghosts and monsters but I love it, telling stories is what I was born to do.

My line of work is much deeper than anything a simple prayer can fix. I wrench the heart; I mutilate the mind. I burn wounds of hurt and pain and I make those inner demons come to the surface: sickness, sufferings, diseases! I know my place. Those little friends and their little God have nothing on me. Sure I have been in battle with God's little angels and sure they may have won a time or two, but this is a different battle and we are living in a different time.

My life is in these books, he wants to tell her. Read these and know my heart.

My memories came back like a punch in the face. Only good.

My mortgage isn’t getting any cheaper and I can’t run that Ferrari on faith alone," Revernd Jones said. "Don’t get me wrong, the Big Man Upstairs does what he can but I’ve never once seen him filling up the tank of my car.

My mind is like an Asian map; many places are covered with forests, deserts, swamps; in other words, it is filled with question marks. -Red White Love: The Love of Liverpool FC

My mind skidded round a very short track and passed the finish line in a matter of seconds without any sensible conclusion.

My mother picked me up in her arms, touching my checks comforting my distress. I stared into her eyes and held her hair in my small hands, for the first time realizing what a moment in time meant. I touched her cheek and then looked away, knowing this was the truth to life, and there was nothing I could do about it. The truth that her death would one day occur made me realize that I never wanted her to leave my side. It was something I could not control, something no one could ever stop no matter how strong they were.

My mind skipped to a sunlit Saturday morning a few months ago when Noah was supposed to be revising for his exams. I caught him looking out the window instead, distracted by a roving butterfly. “Noah, you’re supposed to be studying!” I scolded. He replied languidly, “I am! I’m studying what’s out there.

My mother had been in the Soviet whirlpool for eleven years by this point. Enough time, I imagine, to unlearn the bourgeois habits of her native Brooklyn, to accustom herself to the farting and shouting of her neighbours, to doing her washing by hand in the collective tub, to keeping her dry food locked up in her wardrobe

My mortgage isn’t getting any cheaper and I can’t run that Ferrari on faith alone," Reverend Jones said. "Don’t get me wrong, the Big Man upstairs does what he can but I’ve never once seen him filling up the tank of my car.

My mum always said the three most important letters in my name were the EDN, because if you rearranged them it spelled ‘END' and I was the end of anything good in her life. Ryan says the letters rearranged in my name are NEED and he will always need me to be the best version of himself he can be. I think I like Ryan’s version better.

My nation, as all nations, is becoming a land without peace, without thought, without mind, Madam Abbess. We are suffocating our spirits in commercial and material things. This is not envy," said Mr. Konishi earnestly. "I am a rich man, with much business, so I have succeeded in all these things, but I know that they are empty.

My one true love remains my self... I dump myself occasionally to keep it interesting

My motto? Don’t trust someone who is just as cagey as yourself." "What kind of detective are you?” “A lousy one and proud of it. I write, remember?” She looked down at her hand & laughed. “Berretta doesn’t make lighters.” "Why I was a writer! My life revolved around fiction. I could make something up" "She looked down at her hand & laughed. “Berretta doesn’t make lighters.” "So they're not Tolstoy, they're a little shorter...Okay, okay a lot. Go ahead, read my mystery series anyway." "A detective has their boundaries especially me. So mine shifted occasionally...okay a lot" “Beat it, Buster. My temper and this mace have a hair trigger.” “Interference could be lethal.” I got right up in his face, hissing, “Don’t push me, I’m hormonal.” I'm not really a lousy detective, just rough around the edges.

My name's Sean, Jem. I'm Sean.

My new story collection won’t please everyone, nor was it meant to. Then again, not everybody lives in my world. If they did, I’d have to move out and find another world to write about.

My whore of a brother has done it again." "Then, as always, orders me to clean up the mess." "I think I hate him." Poseidon to his brother, Zeus.

(M)ysteries in fiction are seldom as insoluble as those in life, as most writers can't resist the lure of omniscience.

My sister lived in the moment. She said she would love the summer only when it came and warmed her. But I lived and still live in the future. Where it’s warm when it’s cold. Where dreams are not yet reality. Where the sad people are happy. The only problem with living in the future is that everyone has died, including yourself. So your plans are fiction and your predictions are fantasy. Living in the future is pure fantasy. I think that’s why I love it so dearly.

Nature has distributed intelligence unequally, but imagination equally.

[Nathan] wasn't blindly obsessed with a possession. He wasn't crazy. He was a hero--a father who'd risked his life to rescue his son.

Nanny Ogg was an attractive lady, which is not the same as being beautiful. She fascinated Casanunda. She was an incredibly comfortable person to be around, partly because she had a mind so broad it could accommodate three football fields and a bowling alley.