Best 4069 quotes in «fiction quotes» category

You… are the symbol of the revolution that will transform Aryavarta; you are the one who has brought us to this. – Panchali Draupadi

You are there and to their ears, being a Syrian sounds like you’re unclean, shameful, indecent; it’s like you owe the world an apology for your very existence.

You: Are you okay? How could I answer that truthfully? ‘I’m not really okay and I think I might be better if I could just hear the sound of your voice?’ That was a bit too much, my brain decided. Me: Yep My phone rang almost immediately. “You’re not okay,” you said. My heart nearly stopped beating at the sound of your voice. It was incredible, the effect that one particular voice had on me. It steadied me. “How can you tell?” I asked, laughing weakly. I could picture you —well, at least what I imagine of you — wondering if you should say what I somehow already knew you would. “You never say ‘yep’.” “I say it all the time.” “No,” you replied, “you don’t. You say it when you’re trying not to say whatever’s on your mind. So talk.” “I’m fine, just tired and a bit bored, I guess.” Liar, my inner voice said accusingly. You miss him and you know it.

You battled monsters. You sweat and cried your way to this one prolific moment where you finally realize that those dark days and sleepless nights were pre-requisites to your becoming.

You cannot discover new oceans until you are willing to lose sight of the shore.

You can not describe anything without betraying your point of view, your aspirations, your fears, your hopes. Everything.

You can revise a story, you can edit a film, but you can only alter an event by lying about it.

You can’t always protect breakable things. Hearts and eggs will break but you keep going anyway, because science is asking questions and living is not being afraid of the answer.

You can’t blame yourself for what Socrates did. Those birds came because he wanted them to come, at least a part of him did. The pissed off part. Let that roll around in your brain for a while.” Jamie considered this. “No, Eddie. The hurt part, that’s what did it.” The crow shrieked again. It seemed louder, and that meant it was closer. Or maybe it was another crow, maybe several. Jamie and Eddie looked toward the sky, listening to the screams. Jamie spoke first. “We can’t let it happen again. We may be the only ones who know the truth about what Socrates can do.” “That thought probably has occurred to Socrates too.

You can't fight in here. This is the War Room.

You can thank Henry Ford for that. He was a warlock, you know.

You can't make a fan of everyone. Stay true to your story, characters, music, art or whatever it is you do and fuck everyone else who doesn't like it. Life isn't perfect.

You can't show me the Earth from space and fly right past the moon, entice me into this magical machine and invite me to come with you, and then ask me to stay behind!

You couldn't wake someone when his own dreams turned out better than reality.

You didn’t just accidentally win my favor,” I dispute, slowly shaking my forehead against his. “You earned it. Now, if I can just save your life twenty or thirty more times…We might actually be able to call it even.

You ever play that game seven minutes in heaven, baby? Because we're about to play it.

You have absolutely no idea how close humanity came to annihilation by an extraterrestrial race. Absolutely no idea.

You have always known they exist. Everyone feels their presence. Few know the truth. The world of Real Immortals is about to be revealed!

You have filled every fibre of my soul and the spaces in between

You have chosen the path of darkness.

You know, Dorothy, you can’t let people bring you down so easily or you’ll have your nose in the dirt for the rest of your life. From what I make of it, for every person with a good thought, there are about fifty who’d try to spoil it. We have to guard our good ideas, our happy thoughts, and fight for them. Because if we let those others snuff them out, well, we didn’t after all deserve them.

You have seven writers in your basement?” Donald nods, signing, “They like it here. There’s a poet, a couple of novelists, an opera librettist, an essay writer . . . . They don’t usually make much trouble.

You know this has really affected my ability to trust myself. No matter what happened in my life, I was always able to trust myself. My instincts. Two men in a row carrying on indiscretions makes me feel like I made up some story. Almost like a fiction, I wrote in my mind that had a beginning, middle and end. It feels like I manufactured some ideal life that was a made-up invention that I needed to believe was the truth.

You know there’s this gaping space between us, and if I leaned forward I’d grab Dex’s shirt without ever touching him. You know there’s a three-inch-thick glass wall separating us. Now we know, too.

You know, in everyone’s life you go through just trying to learn what one times one is—one times one equals one.

You know," Kavita begins, "I think I can pick out my own furniture. I am an artist after all. I do have some taste." "No you don't." Nick plainly states. "No man has taste. Besides, I didn't pick it out, she did. Wives are good for things like that.

You know who you are you just have to believe it.

You'll have to learn to forgive," he said. "For if you don't, you know what will happen?" "What, Doctor?" I croaked, for my outburst had exhausted me. "It will destroy you," he said as he handed me the tea. A tear came into my eye when he said it for I knew it was true and I would have loved to be able to do it (not because of its destroying me but because it was right, and deep down I knew that) but I couldn't and the more I thought of it the more the blood came coursing to my head so that whenever I'd write I'd find myself clutching the pencil so tight I broke the lead how many times I don't know, hundreds.

You know, one of the interesting things you find about writing fiction is that any fiction you write has to be political. Otherwise, it goes into the realm of fantasy. So like, if you write about a woman in America in 1910, if you don’t write that she can’t really control her property, that she can’t—doesn’t have any say over her children, that she can’t vote—if you don’t put that in it, then it’s a fantasy. Like, well, how is her life informed? That’s true about everybody. If you write about black people, you write about white men, I mean, it has to be political. A lot of people don’t realize that, it seems.

You’ll be civilized or we’ll leave your arse here.” Johan... "Vital Perception

You live on love crumbs. A nibble drops, you gobble up the morsel. The crumb sustains you until he gives you another. Don't you believe you deserve the whole loaf ? " - A Dress the Color of the Sky

You look like shit.” “Thanks. I look way better than I feel.

You look good, Clearwater. Been working out?' Danie teased. 'He does, doesn't he?'Janelle agreed. 'This will totally work.' James' eyes darted back and forth between the girls, his head spinning. 'Wait, what will work?

You look within and upon and around me, savoring every inch. You pull my ear for no reason, and I can tell you really don’t want to cry. As a tear falls between by breasts, I look away and pretend the grass is a jungle, and the ants, little kings of forgotten tribes.

You never even stole that money and yet they fire you. I could just take Alva Johnson by the neck and make her eat dog shit.

You mistake us for abstaining your kind from undeserving happiness when all we do is to fight for our cause. We are soldiers, not rebels.

You must see it for yourself before anyone can see it with you.” Katrina Rose

You never give such relationships a thought, To give a thought, to take a thought is a function of dissociation, distance. You can't exercise memory until you've removed yourself from memory's source.

You might think of the barrier between fiction and reality as being a bit like a blood-brain barrier, which allows only some kinds of molecules to pass from the bloodstream into the brain. Emotions can easily pass from the fictional world into the real one, so that fiction can feel as if it were real. But BELIEFS are blocked. We KNOW the events have no bearing in the real world.

You or me, I'm afraid, and I'm very attached to myself.

You're nothing more than a common bully,' he whispered, voice trembling. I'd shaken him for good now, and it was deeper than just the physical side, my knuckles bruising his throat and his back arching for all his so-called defiance. 'I don't care what I am, so long as you're afraid of me.

You’re as plain as the nose on your face,” said Mr. Pennyworth. “And your nose is remarkably obvious. As is the rest of your face, young man. As are you. For the sake of all that is holy, empty your mind. Now. You are an empty alleyway. You are a vacant doorway. You are nothing. Eyes will not see you. Minds will not hold you. Where you are is nothing and nobody.

You’re a talking cat?” Endora asked with a look of disbelief on her face. “My, my, my, aren’t you the bright bulb of the bunch,” he replied with a bit of snarky smugness. “Tell me then, bright-bulb, do you suppose that I need your permission to talk just because I’m a cat?” He raised his paw to his face, admiring his newly gnawed manicure. After he observed the last nail, he slapped his paw down on the floorboards, making a low thud sound. “Because I don’t,” he smirked. Endora was taken by surprise at his rudeness. She stared back at him, speechless and not quite sure how to respond. “Are you a magic cat?” Mila busted in with a question that seemed as silly to her as to the cat. He glared and narrowed his eyes at her. “A magic cat,” he said, standing up to arch his furry back. “Is my talking some sort of magic to you? If it is… then I am.” He stretched his back higher and let out a long purr that turned into, “Purrhaps, you four little witchy girls should clearly refine your meaning of magic so you know what it means before you say the word magic.” “I rather am quite fond of talking cats,” Selena said with a big smile. “Of course, you’re the first one I’ve ever seen.” The cat narrowed its eyes tighter. “Indeed,” he said, letting out a yawn as if the whole conversation were a bore. He leapt off the porch and dash away, mumbling and grumbling his way down the corridor. Selena looked over at Endora. “Rude little snot, isn’t he?” she said.

You're not safe with me." He cut me off, seeming to growl. "I don't want to be safe. I want to be with you. You can't do this alone.

You’re not interested in her because by your definition she isn’t real. But your brain doesn’t know the difference. It’s all just chemicals firing and testosterone giving you a hard-on.

You’re one tough egg to crack. You know that? You’re like a Kinder egg wrapped inside a mystery wrapped inside an enigma.

You remember?' he said incredulously. 'What could you possibly remember?' he asked, staring at her, waiting for the answer. The beauty from within her soul shined brightly through her loving eyes as she looked deep into Noah’s now melting eyes. 'I remember — I love you,' she said in a soft voice, nervously biting her lip.

You’re injured.” He flicks his chin at my bleeding leg. “We need to get that cleaned up.” “It’ll be fine,” I wave it off. “My mom will descend upon me with a bottle of peroxide the second I hit the door.

You're only going to tire yourself out trying. Best to quit while you're ahead. That way, no one gets hurt.' 'How very droll,' Antoinette said, drawing close to the bars of the cage. 'Because I was going to say precisely the same thing about your little revolution.' 'It's hardly a revolution if the man in charge condones it,' Troius said. 'It's amusing that you assume it is that man who controls Thremedon,' Antoinette snarled.

You're supposed to make your child feel like you want them. No matter what. Even if you're tired, or you're stressed, or you have a fucking photo shoot, or you move across the world, or you haven't gotten a full night's sleep. You do whatever you can to make them feel like the only thing you want in the world is to be by their side, even if you can't.