Best 4069 quotes in «fiction quotes» category

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.

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

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

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.

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.

Miniture protoplasm, the dirty little bastard!

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

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)

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

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

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.

Most civilizations had more fiction than they did real history.

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 fan fiction is terrible.

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

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 people surrendered fairy tale hopes in exchange for cookie cutter lives

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.

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 has been Petrified.I want to see some punishment!

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

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

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