Best 4069 quotes in «fiction quotes» category

I mean I would never do that. I just think it. Does this make me a bad person?” “You are only a bad person if you do bad things,” said the second anchor. “Thank you.” “That’s not an acquittal, Diane. The counterpoint is that you are only a good person if you do good things.

I’m in love with fiction. A fantasy that slips between my fingers when reality sets in.

I miss home. I miss ignorance. I've seen a beauty I can't fathom in the Aquifer, and met a girl who moves my heart.

I’m not above using unsavory beings to kick the Gods’ asses, but the Phantoms are too unpredictable for my taste,” I said.

I’m not a political commentator. Nor am I in any way a fan of politics. I tell people I believe in good governance, but not in politics.

I'm not a gift for you to present to Sirius...I want to ride in with my head held high, as an equal to my husband....[Sirius] wanted a woman the gods said would make him great. That woman isn't going to be hauled about like a crate of potatoes.

I’m not smarter than you, I’m more knowledgeable than you, and that’s only because I’m older than you. Parents are always more knowledgeable than their children, and children are always smarter than their parents.

I mostly believe, deep in my bones, that life is very simply beyond description; regardless of what one makes of it, life always spills over the parameters of how anyone has chosen to define it.

I'm not the same person I was before, and I am deathly afraid I will never be her again...

I’m not your boyfriend!” I snapped, trying to gently move her hands away from my body. “How can you say that?” Sara asked in horror. “It’s shockingly effortless,” I replied. “My vocal chords vibrate, and my mouth and tongue articulate. I can even do it without thinking.” I had to remind myself to stay calm, and sarcasm was the best way to do that. “When are you going to give me a key to your house so I don’t have to knock like some guest?” Sara asked, coming at me again. I backed away. “How about never? Is never good for you?” Sara, undeterred, said, “You’re the reason I go to therapy on Fridays.” “The plot thickens!” Gabby exclaimed for comedic relief.

I’m scared to fall asleep. I don’t want to see it...

I'm starting to think you like prisons," "And that you have the worst taste in men.

I’m unhappy doing just mole stuff. What’s wrong with me? Why couldn’t I look forward to digging my own burrow?

I'm warning you. I'm going to get waxy. D'you see? You're not wanted. Understand? We are going to have fun on this island. Understand? We are going to have fun on this island! So don't try it on, my poor misguided boy, or else---" Simon found he was looking into a vast mouth. There was blackness within, a blackness that spread.

I mutter and mutter and no one to listen. I speak my words in Japanese and my daughter will not hear them. The words that come from our ears, our mouths, they collide in the space between us. "Obachan, please! I wish you would stop that. Is it too much to ask for some peace and quiet? You do this on purpose, don’t you? Don’t you! I just want some peace. Just stop! Please, just stop." "Gomennasai. Waruine, Obachan wa. Solly. Solly." Ha! Keiko, there is method in my madness. I could stand on my head and quote Shakespeare until I had a nosebleed, but to no avail, no one hears my language. So I sit and say the words and will, until the wind or I shall die. Someone, something must stand against this wind and I will. I am.

In Actual Human Rights are "caring" for Humans left on the planet

...in a fairy tale, the story can't be altered. The prince and princess will never have a fight. You'll never hear the queen raise her voice. No on ever gets sick; no one ever gets hurt. Maybe love is only safe in places where it can't change.

In all ages woman has been the source of all that is pure, unselfish, and heroic in the spirit and life of man.....poetry and fiction are based upon woman's love, and the movements of history are mainly due to the sentiments or ambitions she has inspired......there is no aspiration which any man here to-night entertains, no achievement he seeks to accomplish, no great and honorable ambition he desires to gratify, which is not directly related to either or both a mother or a wife. From the hearth-stone around which linger the recollections of our mother, from the fireside where our wife awaits us, come all the purity, all the hope, and all the courage with which we fight the battle of life. The man who is not thus inspired, who labors not so much to secure the applause of the world as the solid and more precious approval of his home, accomplishes little of good for others or of honor for himself. I close with the hope that each of us may always have near us: 'A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command, And yet a spirit still, and bright With something of an angel light.

In almost all other professions a man must be able to observe carefully and report accurately what he has seen. Those qualifications are unnecessary for journalists, however, since their job is to write sensational stories that sell newspapers.

In any random slaughter, the difference between living and dying rarely has anything to do with willpower, or wisdom, or pluck. It's just a matter of where you're standing. Two inches to the right, and the bus hits you. If your office is on the ninety-second floor instead of the ninetieth, you don't make it out in time.

In a secular age, I suspect that reading fiction is one of the few remaining paths to transcendence, that elusive state in which the distance between the self and the universe shrinks.

In a work of fiction, everything is invented, even the things that are not, because once a true event is brought into the realm of the imaginary, it becomes imaginary.

In darkness there is death.

I never take out clients. It’s bad policy.” He looked me straight in the eyes as he said it. Reaching across for the glove compartment, his arm accidentally brushed my leg.

I never understand," he said, shaking his head, "why anyone would go through the trouble of making up new people in this world when there's already billions of the buggers I don't give a shit about.

I never look at a painting and ask, "Is this painting fictional or non-fictional?" It's just a painting.

I never said you had to like it. You have to accept it. No regret." -Clare Harding.

I never said you had to like it. You have to accept it. No regret. - Claire Harding - Boone Holler

I never want a girl to lose all hope that her life can’t completely turn around, even if she feels that she is at the edge, standing on one foot, and ready to say goodbye.

I never want you to deny anything about yourself because you have grown up thinking it’s unacceptable or inconvenient for the people around you.

I never was very good at acting. I never was very good at playing the role. Because the true pretending can only come off in our genuine awareness of the real. Only those of us with the most secure grasp on the real can pretend; can really be good at the performance. And of course I didn't know what was real; I only knew the camera was always on.

In fact, Mott had not been forced to believe anything: the willing lies of fiction depend upon willing believers. Like love, belief is an act of volition.

In fiction, the characters have their own lives. They may start as a gloss on the author’s life, but they move on from there. In poetry, especially confessional poetry but in other poetry as well, the poet is not writing characters so much as emotional truth wrapped in metaphor. Bam! Pow! A shot to the gut.

In fiction: we find the predictable boring. In real life: we find the unpredictable terrifying.

In French culture, the best way of buying time or getting off the hook entirely in a thorny personal situation is to claim that it’s complicated. The French did not invent love, but they did invent romance, so they’ve had more time than any other culture on earth to refine the nuances of its language.

Infatuation burns itself out,' she says. 'Friendship mixed with old chemistry--that can last a lifetime.

In life, when you have a partner–someone you can rely on and trust with everything that you are–there isn’t anything you can’t accomplish. I will always be there for you, if you let me.

In its basic form, nursing can be seen as a duty, but beyond the incessant operational activities that lay the foundation of our daily work, the profession is all about grace. Helping people is a noble calling. It is a privilege to serve my fellow human beings. Fifteen years has seen many ups and downs at the workplace, but I have enjoyed serving the many patients who come into my care, and have prayed for the souls of those who were on the brink of death.

In life, wisdom usually came with age, but death offered another world.

In life your rewards come from the gifts you give to others.

In light of my distanced telescopic exposure to the mayhem, I refused to plagiarise others’ personal tragedies as my own. There is an authorship in misery that costs more than empathy. Often I’d found myself dumbstruck in failed attempts to simulate that particular unfamiliar dolour. After all, no one takes pleasure in being possessed by a wailing father collecting the decapitated head of his innocent six year old. Even on the hinge of a willing attempt at full empathy with those cursed with such catastrophes, one had to have a superhuman emotional powers. I could not, in any way, claim the ability to relate to those who have been forced to swallow the never-ending bitter and poisonous pills of our inherited misfortune. Yet that excruciating pain in my chest seemed to elicit a state of agony in me, even from far behind the telescope. It could have been my tribal gene amplified by the ripple effect of the falling, moving in me what was left of my humanity.

In my head, owning a bookstore meant I could hide in the back reading all day, while other bookworms came and went without a sound, resembling almost a library or, better yet, a convent. People never talked to me or to each other, we were just a secret society of readers, alone but together in silent unity. In reality though, owning a bookstore meant that I never actually had time to read a book myself. And being a newer bookstore, meant that I was broke and couldn’t actually afford staff so I had to do most things myself. Alone. In front of people. With my face showing. And sometimes having to make eye contact. It was awful.

No one is on this road, she thought. No one but us. Everyone knows this isn’t the place to be at three o’clock on a summer afternoon. Everyone but us.

I now understand that writing fiction was a seed planted in my soul, though I would not be ready to grow that seed for a long time.

I noticed him right away. No, it wasn’t his lean, rugged face. Or the dark waves of shiny hair that hung just a little too long on his forehead. It wasn’t the slim, collarless biker jacket he wore, hugging his lean shoulders. It was the way he stood. The confident way he waited in the cafeteria line to get a slice of pizza. He didn’t saunter. He didn’t amble. He stood at the center, and let the other people buzz around him. His stance was straight and sure.

In our choices lie our fate

In relationship there are always two types of person: one weaker and the other stronger one. It's never easier to live being as weaker one!

Now that I had run out of steam I realized I was in Ronan’s room, at night. He was standing there in a pair of boxers and nothing else. Gulp. Maybe I shouldn’t be too hasty to throw away this betrothal. Ew. Great, Grazi, why not just drool all over the boy in his underwear after you pretty much told him you wanted nothing to do with him? I’m such a freak. “Um, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I turned around and left as quickly as I had come in.

I noticed he had begun to do as I did. But then what other models did he have? He was the kind who wore checked shirts tucked into trousers that had two demure pleats in the front.

Inside the room there sat a rocker, which she sat on, and which had rocked her while she sipped the beer, because in spite of herself she had become so giddy to have so quickly relieved her heart that she allowed herself to lean backwards while in the rocker, which had made it possible for the rocker to rock her, although it was not her intention to be so rocked. Also there stood an ironing board with a still hot iron on it that was burning a yellow shift, and there was, among several items that were not as noticeable to the woman, and yet were noticeable enough to at least bear mention, a fake man. "I hope you don't mind me asking," said the woman who lived in the room, but then while in her chair she nodded off.