Best 4069 quotes in «fiction quotes» category

Many politicians are tantalizing storytellers, as they mix facts with fiction, grab our emotion and tell things, they want us to believe. Their factoids are unremittingly reiterated, take a life on their own and in the end become the very truth… until the bubble bursts.("What after bowling alone?" )

Many writers, good writers who ought to know better, focus so tightly on the structure demanded by a crime story that they lose track of the fact that they are writing a novel. Accusations of both sensationalism and trivialisation are, alas, often justified.

Marian was suddenly overcome by an appalling crippling panic. She was very frightened at the idea of arriving. But it was more than that. She feared the rocks and the cliffs and the grotesque dolmen and the ancient secret things. Her two companions seemed no longer reassuring but dreadfully alien and even sinister. She felt, for the first time in her life, completely isolated and in danger. She became in an instant almost faint with terror. She said, as a cry for help, ‘I’m feeling terribly nervous’. ‘I know you are,’ said Scottow. (…) Marian was appalled at the sudden quietness. But the insane panic had left her. She was frightened now in an ordinary way, sick in her stomach, shy, tongue-tied, horribly aware of the onset of a new world.

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Mary approaches her before she is able to reach her station. "Hello Lily. Get anything special for Christmas?" "Just the usual." She answers. "Shattered dreams.

Max: Why do I get the feeling you’ve played god and you don’t know what you’ve created. Dr Hurstville: Hasn’t god done the same with us?

Maybe because I knew Haze and Kate so well by then the passage leapt out at me, clear and sharp as diamond. “My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath…He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.” A love that was terrifying in its depth, but all the more enticing because of that. I thought I understood. Love could be just as destructive as hate if it became poisoned or twisted.

Matt was almost completely naked. A tattered loincloth and an ugly chain with a yellow diamond were his only apparel.

Max is short for General Maximus Decimus Meridius.

Maybe if you sleep where another person sleeps and do what that person does, then eventually you’ll start turning into that person.

Maybe knowing what it is that you want, the future that you have been fighting for, is what it will take to make it happen. It's easy to admit defeat and let go of people you love, or dreams you have, because it's difficult. Fighting for them is what takes courage. Fighting for them is what matters.

Maybe stories choose how they are told and who tells them.

Maybe that was the best part. The beautiful peace that came with living her own story, knowing every turn of the page and tug of the heart was a new beginning.

Maybe the world isn't enough, or maybe the distinction between the world and fiction is not so clear. Fiction is made from the stuff of the world, after all, which includes dreams and wishes and fantasies and memory. And it is never really made alone, but from the material between and among us: language.

Maybe we're all ongoing stories, defined at various stages of life, or whenever people oblige us to declare ourselves. Fiction is marvelous for studying this, allowing the writer and reader to leap decades in a sentence. No other art lets you bend time as much.

May was the best person I ever knew.... She understood people and she let them be whatever way they needed to be. She had faith in every single person she ever met, and this never failed her, for nobody ever disappointed May. Seems people knew she saw the very best of them, and they'd turn that side to her to give her a better look.

Me han dicho —a modo de crítica— que vivo en la luna. Les he dicho —a modo de crítica— que viven en la Tierra.

…Mellor’s statement is extremist in two directions: human civilization is in imminent peril, and only one solution will work. I doubt both these formulations, and almost every fiction I have encountered that depends upon them.

Memory is fiction . . . All memory is a way of reconstructing the past. . . The act of narrating a memory is the act of creating fiction. [Armitstead, Claire. “Damon Galgut talks about his novel In a Strange Room.” The Guardian. 10 September 2010.]

Memory is like fiction: or else it' fiction that's like memory.

Memory is like fiction: or else it's fiction that's like memory.

Men like you and I make myths, we weave stories to sanctify the life that has been given to us. But not Govinda. Men like him don’t make myths; they make destiny. – Kshatta Vidur

Memory is an artist, an impressionist. She adds colour, sound, smell and emotion to events at her whim. She adds, subtracts and embellishes until the event she started documenting is quite unrecognisable to the others who also experienced it, but at the same time, is more truthful to the owner of the memory. There is no reality. There are only impres- sions of past events, made by a million selves, all interacting with each other, vying for superiority. Reality doesn’t exist, perhaps in the end, that’s my only truth.

Misery comes to miser; joy comes to wiser. (A Very Hot Cup of Tea, Empathy) Juvenile invites, youth tries, adult applies, and the old man dies. (A Straw Man, Empathy) In everyone, there lives a superhero. (The Medicine Man, Empathy) Faith is the strongest word in any dictionary. (The Wisdom Beard, Empathy) I’ve entered into your feelings; it’s your turn now. (Empathy)

Meredith immersed herself in the novels. For some reason, fiction hit on the meaning of life so much more concisely than real life itself did.

Milcas raced out his door, anxious to find the answer to this riddle and discover the source of hope for a Roegan in Fargranther; the propellant of an unheard of, forgotten, impossible, and by all accounts, damned idea.

Miniture protoplasm, the dirty little bastard!

Minds that have withered into psychosis are far more terrifying than any character of fiction.

MISS PRISM: Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diary that we all carry about with us. CECILY: Yes, but it usually chronicles the things that have never happened, and couldn't possibly have happened.

Miz Ellen, what do you carry in that handbag of yours that has enough wallop to knock down a full-grown man? - Dan Landry

Merdeka!' the Malay man screamed. 'Merdekaaaaaa!' the sea of people echoed.

Mi naturaleza no prevé guerras. No estoy hecho para odiar. Qué lleva a la gente a dispararse mutuamente es algo incomprensible para el corazón de un osito. Yo no soy amigo de los niños, ni amigo de las mujeres o de los hombres, ni amigo de los soldados ni amigo de los que oponen resistencia: yo soy amigo de los seres humanos, esa es mi disposición natural.

Mistakes? That's why they put erasers on pencils.

Misunderstandings arise only in undefined relationships

Mmm.” Sebastian moaned. “It’s so delicious.” He laughed then. “It’s not the Poisonous Desert; it’s the Oreo Desert.” He scooped up handfuls of dirt and stones and funneled it into his mouth. He licked his palms, his teeth grinding against rock. “Did the plant scramble his brains?” Firen asked, her lips twitching just a smidgen. “The plant’s poison makes you delusional,” Gabriella informed as Egnatious and Firen yanked Sebastian to his feet. “He’ll probably be a bit Looneyville for a while.

Money is a fictional concept.

Moreover, it is not just that the early documents are silent about so much of Jesus that came to be recorded in the gospels, but that they view him in a substantially different way -- as a basically supernatural personage only obscurely on Earth as a man at some unspecified period in the past, 'emptied' then of all his supernatural attributes (Phil.2:7), and certainly not a worker of prodigious miracles which made him famous throughout 'all Syria' (Mt.4:24). I have argued that there is good reason to believe that the Jesus of Paul was constructed largely from musing and reflecting on a supernatural 'Wisdom' figure, amply documented in the earlier Jewish literature, who sought an abode on Earth, but was there rejected, rather than from information concerning a recently deceased historical individual. The influence of the Wisdom literature is undeniable; only assessment of what it amounted to still divides opinion.

More than likely you’ll do well enough alone by the engines of your own fate until you either hit a few really nasty bumps in the road or grow old enough to realize that there may be a diamond or two in what you thought was your old man’s bucket.

Most girls celebrate their birthdays with friends. I spent mine with a pack of wolves.

Most people surrendered fairy tale hopes in exchange for cookie cutter lives

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.

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.

Most civilizations had more fiction than they did real history.

Most fan fiction is terrible.

Most of all, he loved Celia Johnson, her hats,her face,her cracked porcelain voice: 'This can't last. This misery can't last.Nothing lasts really,neither happiness nor despair.Not even life lasts long....There'll come a time in the future when i shan't mind about this any more....

Most of the time, we see only what we want to see, or what others tell us to see, instead of really investigate to see what is really there. We embrace illusions only because we are presented with the illusion that they are embraced by the majority. When in truth, they only become popular because they are pounded at us by the media with such an intensity and high level of repetition that its mere force disguises lies and truths. And like obedient schoolchildren, we do not question their validity and swallow everything up like medicine. Why? Because since the earliest days of our youth, we have been conditioned to accept that the direction of the herd, and authority anywhere — is always right.

Most stories are not about people but about life, an addiction like the rest of them that destroys you even as you love it, but you love it anyway and can never get enough.

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.