Best 4069 quotes in «fiction quotes» category

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

What comes from the heart will go to the heart

What do we actually consider to be “normal?" It’s only about what our conventional mentality is or isn’t able to understand, and agree to accept as “real.” In fact, the shadowy edge between normal and paranormal is more than ILLUSORY… The exact same can be stated about the border between calling your novel non-fiction or fiction. What if you could close your eyes and see different worlds and planets? What if you could see them with some kind of different vision, even with your eyes open? Would that make you a paranoid… a freak, a genius, a crazy? Or, maybe, an Indigo, if that’s what’s been happening to you since you can remember? If something unusual is what you really see and really feel, and if that’s what does happen to you in your real life, how is THAT called FICTION? One simple reason... that it’s the only way the society would agree to call it “normal,” based on the current level of development of their mentality.

Whatever binds us, ripples through us all. We might not all be shadow, but we are all human. I remind myself every night. I am a man. I always will be. And I will always, fiercely, defend my loves, to the very end. Let it come.

What do you think about America?" "Everyone always smiles so big! Well—most people. Maybe not so much you. I think it looks stupid.

Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it." Goethe

What happens when two introverts collide? Do they dissolve completely in each other’s patience and silence, or do they break their glass shells and become new people?

What if happiness was a choice?

What I now ask of you is considered treason

What if you are just destined to get hurt, to be helplessly stuck in a point of time you no longer want to be? Maybe life is all about trying to get up while you fall a little bit deeper in the pits of hell, each time you try not to...

What is so addictive about fiction is that it is the one reliable place in which we can apprehend and participate in - fully understand - the inward world of another person.

What is it with Dictators and Writers, anyway? Since before the infamous Caesar-Ovid war they've had beef. Like the Fantastic Four and Galactus, like the X-Men and the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, like the Teen Titans and Deathstroke, Foreman and Ali, Morrison and Crouch, Sammy and Sergio, they seemed destined to be eternally linked in the Halls of Battle. Rushdie claims that tyrants and scribblers are natural antagonists, but I think that's too simple; it lets writers off pretty easy. Dictators, in my opinion, just know competition when they see it. Same with writers. Like, after all, recognizes like.

What is it that frightens us about a "novel of causes", and conversely, does fiction have to exist in some suspended, apolitical landscape in order to be literary? Can it not politically and temporally specific and still be in good literary taste? We are leery of literature that smacks of the polemic, instructional, or prescriptive, and I guess rightly so--it's a drag to be lectured to--but what does that imply about our attitudes towards intellectual inquiry? While I enjoy reading kitchen-table novels in which characters are distilled to their emotional essence and their lives stripped of politics and commerce, it simply is not reflective of my experience. I see our lives as being a part of an enormous web of interconnected spheres, where the workings of the larger social, political, and corporate machinery impact something as private and intimate as the descent of an egg through a woman's fallopian tube. This is the resonance I want to conjure in my books. I want to write novels that engage the emotions and the intellect, and that means going head to head with the chaos of evils and issues that threaten to overpower us all. And if they threaten to overpower the characters, then I have to make the characters stronger.

What is the difference between a dream and its memory?

What is the nature of life? Life is lines of dominoes falling. One thing leads to another, and then another, just like you'd planned. But suddenly a Domino gets skewed, events change direction, people dig in their heels, and you're faced with a situation that you didn't see coming, you who thought you were so clever.

What's more important than recycling? Producing something to recycle.

What Joab did not and could not know was that it was ego, and the ego of a king is just like the ego of anyone else. It is a social infection, entering each person as a psychological virus that is passed on by their parents’ egos and other social stimuli. It is born of negativity—of not being good enough thoughts of not having enough, of fear, and worry of failure. Because of its insecure nature, the ego loves to dominate and control others. It’s control or be controlled.

What's that, honey? What was I doing while Uncle Gabe was dueling a god with all of civilization at stake? Why, I was wrestling in the muck with an exceptionally tenacious cow.

What was justice, after all, but a particular outcome?

What they teach you as history is mythology, and true mythology is far from fantasy - every kind reveals true fragments of our real history. A bulk of our real history can be found in Egyptian and Greek mythology. Yes, myths reveal to us worlds of other dimensions that make up our true reality. History books teach us that the minds of the past operated on the same frequency, dimension, or level of consciousness as we do now. Not true at all.

What we often take to be the new is simply the old under some novel form.

What we write is fiction; what we experience, truth.

What looks like crazy on an ordinary day looks a lot like love if you catch it in the moonlight.

What will I do if I find myself with a heart?" "Lose it constantly, I imagine.

What we do in life echoes in eternity.

What would you suggest?” one of the Italian officials asked. “We do have a highly-advanced biological device called the Illuminator,” Joseph chimed in

What would you like for your own life, Kate, if you could choose?” “Anything?” “Of course anything.” “That’s really easy, Aunty Ivy.” “Go on then.” “A straw hat...with a bright scarlet ribbon tied around the top and a bow at the back. A tea-dress like girls used to wear, with big red poppies all over the fabric. A pair of flat, white pumps, comfortable but really pretty. A bicycle with a basket on the front. In the basket is a loaf of fresh bread, cheese, fruit oh...and a bottle of sparkly wine, you know, like posh people drink. “I’m cycling down a lane. There are no lorries or cars or bicycles. No people – just me. The sun is shining through the trees, making patterns on the ground. At the end of the lane is a gate, sort of hidden between the bushes and trees. I stop at the gate, get off the bike and wheel it into the garden. “In the garden there are flowers of all kinds, especially roses. They’re my favourite. I walk down the little path to a cottage. It’s not big, just big enough. The front door needs painting and has a little stained glass window at the top. I take the food out of the basket and go through the door. “Inside, everything is clean, pretty and bright. There are vases of flowers on every surface and it smells sweet, like lemon cake. At the end of the room are French windows. They need painting too, but it doesn’t matter. I go through the French windows into a beautiful garden. Even more flowers there...and a veranda. On the veranda is an old rocking chair with patchwork cushions and next to it a little table that has an oriental tablecloth with gold tassels. I put the food on the table and pour the wine into a glass. I’d sit in the rocking chair and close my eyes and think to myself... this is my place.” From A DISH OF STONES

What you believe determines the way you feel and act... but it doesn't change the truth.

What you must do,” she continued, “you will. Your mission will be as clear to you and as demanding as your heartbeat. Everything else is just a waste of your time.

What you do today is important . We can never get today back.