Best 4069 quotes in «fiction quotes» category

It's best not to get settled on things being a certain way, I realized. Life had a funny way if interrupting your plans.

It's considered good sportsmanship not to pick up lost golf balls while they are still rolling.

It’s complicated,” I said in defense, hands going up to show surrender. “Talk slowly,” Jenna retorted derisively. “Okay, I deserved that,” I admitted.

It's easy to like someone from a distance. But when she stopped being this amazing attainable thing or whatever, and started being, like, just a regular girl with a weird relationship with food and frequent crankiness who's kinda bossy, then I had to basically start liking a whole different person.

It's difficult to know when love blooms; suddenly one day you wake up and it's in full flower. It works the same way when it wilts—one day it is just too late.

It's either true or it's not.

It seemed to us that the fantastic can be, can do, so much more than its detractors assume: it can illuminate the real, it can distort it, it can mask it, it can hide it. It can show you the world you know in a way that makes you realise you've never looked at it, not looked at it.

It seems in the final analysis that people who get involved in religion are only after their own personal happiness.

It’s hard for me to talk about love,' she said. 'I think movies are the way I do that.

It's fiction, the improbable is very probable in my worlds

It's from the newspapers that people I know - relatives and co-workers - have got the idea that crosswords are a prophylactic against Alzheimer's. Newspapers are of course also the place where crosswords (and now sudokus) are most readily available, so the association is presumably good for circulation.

It's just like an alcoholic to think he's doing the Zombie Apocalypse wrong.

It's never the deviants who are the problem, puss. Don't forget that. It's the people who won't open their minds that are dangerous.

It’s no surprise that small romances began to bubble up throughout the lab. At the time, it seemed to make sense. It wasn’t long before our working together in such close proximity, together with the general excitement of the task at hand, led to lingering glances over calorimeters, colleagues leaning in to share the dual eyepieces on comparison microscopes, the sudden, accidental brush of hands simultaneously attempting to adjust the needle valves of Bunsen burners. When we examined some of the pollen we found in Loeka’s colon, it turned out the cells within the pollen were still intact, which meant that Loeka’s death could be placed sometime during the spring. Spring!

It's not an easy thing to tell a true story.

It's not just a novel idea, it's a novel.

It's odd to imagine, of course: you pass a car on a lonely rural highway; you sit beside a man in a diner and share views with him; you wait behind a customer checking into a motel, a friendly man with a winning smile and twinkling hazel eyes, who's happy to fill you in on his life's story and wants you to like him - odd to think this man is cruising around with a loaded pistol, making up his mind about which bank he'll soon rob.' - Richard Ford, Canada

It’s okay to dress up like another person, but never try to be someone else. Just try to be yourself, because that’s what makes you special. Oh, and watch out if a dragon ever starts to dance ballet.

It’s not the word made flesh we want in writing, in poetry and fiction, but the flesh made word

It's one thing to leave. It's another to go.

It's only artists who know how to use their eyes

It's only fiction until it happens.

It's said that there's three sides to a story: yours, mine, and the truth. Check out God in Wingtip Shoes and The Prison Plumb Line to explore all three.

It's their failure, my little Anna, not yours. Men who try to understand the world without the help of children are like men who try to bake bread without the help of yeast.

it's through the simple things in life, through its games, when our minds mature the most and we grow knowledgeable. It's also when the cloth masks of our outer, false personalities are torn asunder, and we are able to see every last blemish of a man's genuine character that they hide beneath... no matter how dark or obscene it may be.

it’s the way he uses language—which is nothing like the way fantasists used language before him. There’s no sense of nostalgia. There’s no medieval floridness. There’s no fairy tale condescension to the child reader. It’s very straight, and very clean—there’s no Vaseline on the lens. You see everything clearly, not with sparkles or a flowery sense of wonderment, but with very specific physical details.

It's weird how something can be so scary and awesome all at the same time..

It stood the record of many sensations of pain, once severe, but now softened; and of some instances of relenting feeling, some breathings of friendship and reconciliation, which could never be looked for again, and which could never cease to be dear. She left it all behind her, all but the recollection that such things had been.

It's your destiny to be here, Dana." "Oh really. How nice. Is it Brandon's destiny to be here too?" "Yep.

It takes a while before you begin to breathe the air the characters breathe.

It takes years to know a human being. An entire lifetime. It's what makes a home a home.

It takes three or four years before the present day sinks in to you as a novelist. It has not just to be accepted in the mind but travel down your spine and fill your body and you can’t respond immediately to immediate events, there is this incubation period. Source: http://www.euronews.com/2013/06/25/ma...

It took me several minutes to persuade myself to watch the news. During which time I gave myself a stern talking to. That turned into me considering a local pub that would be the perfect place to drown my sorrows in a barrel of tequila, though after much introspection, I scratched the idea just to avoid needless drunken embarrassment. Then, admittedly, I contemplated pouncing Andrew for another steamy romp session. Despite its proven potency to assuage stress and tension, I decided now was not the time to indulge in explosive sexcapades.

It was a fictional story, but like any good fiction, without the need to adjust or conceal the truth, it actually might be the greatest expression of truth.

It was almost as if she had willed him into existence, into standing before her at the precise moment she was willing to accommodate him, arriving not a minute too early or too late.

It was as if - this something I thought of only later, of course - she were gently peeling back one layer after another that covered a person's heart, a very sensual feeling.

It was always this way: The more people talked, the more they obscured. You didn't need to argue for the truth. You could see it.

It was as if his fingers knew things, but they couldn't show him unless they were moving, touching. He had to think it was similar for carpenters and writers, and he knew it was the same for chefs.

It was as if - this something I thought of only later, of course - she was gently peeling back one layer after another that covered a person's heart, a very sensual feeling.

It was as if hell itself had taken human form and come up from the abyss.

It was dark, so I couldn't make out much of her face, but she had brilliant red hair, like honey and roses and the sun altogether.

It was clearly chiseled by God because Michelangelo couldn't have sculpted something so perfect. And I can't wait to run my tongue over every inch of it.

It was a time before Facebook and Instagram and texting. I imagine it must be easier now, for college students. Home must not feel so far away anymore. But how do you cut the apron strings if the strings are virtual?

It was like walking into another world. While the mansion was bright, warm, comfy and filled with sound and color, the outside was dark, cold, colorless and devoid of people. I found myself standing beside Thomas in the street. The paved road felt so cold it was hurting my feet. I kept moving them up and down, afraid my skin would freeze to the pavement. My heart was racing already and I felt a bit out of breath. If we stood there much longer i was going to hyperventilate.

It was like a commercial for laundry detergent or tampons or a prescription medication with death listed as a possible side effect.

It was his experience that life worked under the same guidelines as a capitalistic society. In order to get what you wanted, it was usually necessary to give up something in return. Sometimes gaining what you defined as everything meant losing what you most needed.

It was not only that false biographies tended to overshadow true ones, they obscured a hard fact that all fiction writers know—which is simply that real life is far less believable than fiction. That is in fact part of the power of nonfiction narratives. To take details from “real life” into fiction and make them believable requires careful work: creating characters the reader can believe would do the unbelievable and setting up a scene where those events make some kind of sense.

It wasn’t playing both sides of the fence – it was betting against yourself but still playing to win – and it encapsulated everything absurd and paradoxical that I loved about the French.

It was one of those late summer days trying its best to convince everyone that winter would never seep through and ravage the earth.

It was only much later that he was made flesh and blood [in the Gospels] on paper. Thus Christ was created as a literary creation.