Best 4069 quotes in «fiction quotes» category

We can't change the world by shouting, but our words can have meaning if we give them enough respect.

We'd become Japs, Jews, Niggers. We weren't before.

We desire to keep the dying and the newly dead close before our eyes so as to give them full need of pity. Our Lord was brought down to be pitied, on the Cross He was too far away.

We couldn’t believe our luck, and for a little while it felt like we were on some big train rolling down a hill, and all we cared about was how great it felt to be going fast.

We do not claim that the portrait we are making is the whole truth, only that it is a resemblance.

We don't suffer from a shortage of metaphors, is what I mean. But you have to be careful which metaphor you choose, because it matters.

We don’t know if the mythologies are fact or fiction or mix of the two. But as far as people have faith in them, they shape their values. When people lose faith in scriptures and mythologies, they easily fall prey to the fictions of the modern times, which propagate infidelity, pleasure seeking and materialism.

We go straight". I say again. "If we start making turns, we might not know what direction is what. If we keep going straight, at least we know how to get back to where we came from if we get into trouble. I know it's tiring, but walking uphill is a good thing-every step we take is a step closer to getting out." "I see shoulders droop, I hear heavy sighs. They don't want to agree with me; they want to go the easier way".

We go to the schools and they leach the dreams from where our ancestors hid them, in the honeycombs of slushy marrow buried in our bones. And us? Well, we join our ancestors, hoping we left enough dreams behind for the next generation to stumble across.

We don't suffer from a shortage of metaphors, is what I mean. But you have to be careful which metaphor you choose, because it matters." -Paper Towns

We have all been fooled into believing in people who are entirely imaginary--made-up prisoners in a hypothetical panopticon. But the point isn't whether or not you believe in imaginary people; it's whether or not you want to. "I think I'll stick with reality," I said, handing Cassidy back her phone. She stared at it, and then me, disappointed. "I'd think you of all people would want to escape." "Imaginary prisoners are still prisoners.

We have our stories, and we speak of them, and weave them into other people's stories - that's how it goes, does it not?

We had been with the men, we had let them do what they wanted. But they would never know the parts of ourselves that we hid from them - they would never sense the lack or even know there was something more they should be looking for.

We have no idea what people are dealing with or the hurts and wounds that have been inflicted upon them. Personally, after reading this, I have been challenged to not be so complacent in my prayer life, and to be more intentional about doing battle for the lost and hurting who need me. " - Christian Missionary Laurie Lester

Welcome, old aspirations, glittering creatures of an ardent underneath the holly! We know you, and have not outlived you yet. Welcome, old projects, and old loves, however fleeting, to your nooks among the steadier lights that burn around us

We insist that this stuff we call science fiction is not SCI-FI. For some in the ghetto of Genre this is axiomatic, a secret truth known only to the genre kids, that there is proper science fiction and then there’s that SCI-FI shit.

We invent fictions in order to live somehow the many lives we would like to lead when we barely have one at our disposal.

Welcome to the real world, Mother Robot, a beautiful and dangerous place. Now you can truly begin to live.

We laughed as we ducked behind a pile of snow. Then our brothers came charging through the barrier, sending the four of us sliding down a white slope full of cherished memories.

Well, here we are." Sometimes a statement of the bloody obvious was the only appropriate way forward. As if to give life ceremonious permission to proceed.

We live in a world where there is such a clear definition of what a girl should be that it takes almost no effort at all to completely hate ourselves.

Well, come back and have tea with us," saidMoon-Face. "Silky's got some Pop Biscuits -andI've made some Google Buns. I don't often makethem-and I tell you they're a treat!

Well, I didn't really know what to say. So maybe I should say that I have thought about you and I like you, I like seeing you, I care for you and maybe I love you too. And the next time if you tell me you love me, I'll--" She stopped. "You'll what?" "I'll say I love you too.

Well, I would tell Danny. I'd probably edit for Josh. That is if there was anything worth editing. “Joshua Roberts, you had better get your butt on the move!” Danny hollered as he walked down the stairs. I was nervously waiting for them to leave as I pretended to watch TV in the front room. “We're going to be late.” “So the hair crisis is under control I see.” “A stray hair will never win between a bottle of gel and a gay man,” he declared with a smile. “Joshua!” “I'm coming. I'm coming.” I heard his sandals click on the stairs and I waited to see if the mental image matched the real one. To my non surprise it did.

Well, they've come a long way. To think that he now could access a secret document held in the Vatican archives, via electronic technology.

We made the choice, right there in our local coffee shop, that we were going to do things differently. We were going to put the story first, no matter where that led us. We’d open ourselves up to all genres, all forms. We’d publish works that stayed with us in an intangible way, long after that last page is turned.

We make fiction because we are fiction ... It lived us into being and it lives us still.

We must know that we may know.

We must kill the guard before we can enter the palace.

We need the Fallen Legion,” I said without preamble, trying to catch my breath after running after her. “And I need an evil-proof bubble to put Jules in,” Firen said dryly. “That’ll teach me to start off a conversation with a demand,” I grumbled.

We need to talk," he insisted, opening the door to his jeep that was parked next to my car. I was still holding out hope this would end and I would see his smile soon. "What's wrong?" I retaliated before I go in. "There's something you need to know, something I haven't told you," he said, taking my backpack from me.

We're all prostitutes sir we're all selling ourselves for something

We players are unaware that the curtain goes up the minute we take our first gulps of our

We're only as good as our word.

we roar along the rust belts——the great red spot—— the polar vortex——the caress of solar flares—— ruffle the molten methane and ammonia oceans of me—— the storm-riven non-surface of me and mine—— that which you call skin—— a threadbare term to describe where I stop and others begin——

We’re going to make a tunnel for that ship. We’re going to make sure that little lady has every chance in the world to survive. If I get any trouble out of any of ya…” he paused. “I’ll handle it myself, do you understand?” Johan… “Vital Perception

We should all be lucky enough to make something in this world half as fucked up as we were ourselves, something we could leave behind.

WEST SALEM ~ October 2011 A sudden vision, fraught with malevolence and darkness, obscured her sight. The face of a menacing figure turned from the shadows of his grisly handiwork and stared at Sorcha. Her muscles tensed. By the Goddess, could he see her? Please! No! She wanted to scream, to run, but the vision ensnared her into the horrific moment like a fly in a spider's web.

We shall take a star out of the skies and shall set thousands of worlds on fire...

We want to believe that this life is longer than it is, but in the grand scheme of the universe our existence equals the amount of time it takes a warm breeze to blow through your hair on a spring day.

We want to fight.” “And I want J.K. Rowling to keep writing in the Potterverse, but I know that’s never going to happen,” I said blithely.

We were like wanderers in a desert, blessed with a rare downpour, but unable to store the rain.

We would be worse than we are without the good books we have read, more conformist, not as restless, more submissive, and the critical spirit, the engine of progress, would not even exist. Like writing, reading is a protest against the insufficiencies of life. When we look in fiction for what is missing in life, we are saying, with no need to say it or even to know it, that life as it is does not satisfy our thirst for the absolute – the foundation of the human condition – and should be better. We invent fictions in order to live somehow the many lives we would like to lead when we barely have one at our disposal.

We work all our lives to be who we become. And, it's who we become that determines what becomes of us.

What an interesting contrast between us, even just in the consideration of one woman. Your complete disregard for her will ironically be your destruction, while my regard for her will be my triumph over you.

What about my patterns of denial, you ask? Well, you will soon read that once I found myself in repose, in Bordirtoun, for an extended period, certain truths about my character began to assert themselves. Truths I had long ignored, and soon, I would find myself deeper, embedded. You will find that I am similarly skilled at this Pong-ian art of denial. After all, I was the one who came halfway around the world, assuming that my father was telling the truth, knowing full well that he was a world-class liar and cheat.

What are you doing?” Egnatious asked, eyebrows furrowed as he watched Gabriella do a flip. Firen mimicked Gabriella and turned to Egnatious. “Fun times. Go with it.” She didn’t even crack a smile, though her body language said she was laughing on the inside. Instead of following their act, Egnatious simply dove for an outcrop just as it began moving away. He nearly lost his balance, but Firen caught his flailing arms. “Are you having a seizure or something?” she jested, displaying a rare vein of humor. Egnatious sent her a queasy glare.

What are we, Charlie's Angels?

What day is it today?” I wait. “The day the Lawson boys found out who I really am.

What came to me later in those dark, dreaming hours put paid to that though and as always my mind led me treacherously back to the bleak and inescapable truth. There was no cure for what one had seen or done.