Best 305 quotes in «fairy tale quotes» category

And then they lived happily, and we who hear the story are happier still.

Are ya tryin' to kill me, Maggie?" Declan bit the words out and his fingers dug deeper into her hips. "Are ya wantin' to see a grown man beg?

Are ya trying' to kill me, lass?" "Kill you? No." Maggie leaned closer, her hands drifting up and cradling his face as she rolled her hips again in one wicked pass. "Torture you? Maybe.

As in most fairy tales, there's a prince and a princess, dragons and some magic, and the feeling it gives you that anything is possible if we could stay this way forever.

As they climbed into the wagon, the widows thanked her again, and reminded her to be careful out there. There was danger in the woods, especially for a woman on her own. Fairies, demons, and shapeshifters who might take advantage of an unguarded lady.

As the boat drew nearer to shore, and tiny dots in the distance became seagulls, she opened the book across her lap and gazed at the beautiful black-and-white sketch of a woman and a deer side by side in the clearing of a thorny forest. And somehow, though she could not read the words, the little girl realized the she knew this picture's tale. Of a young princess who traveled a great distance across the sea to find a precious, hidden item belonging to someone she dearly loved.

A trail made of pine needles and thistles leads you into the green darkness. The canopy casts shadows on old oaks and dogwoods, and you think you can smell the sour breath of a witch behind you. The wind sighs like a sleeping girl, carrying her bittersweet dreams along the paths to attract any man willing to look for thorn-covered castles. A wolf darts between fallen, rotted wood; maybe he’s the one who can tell you where your heart is, how you’re still breathing.

At midmorning the next day, she stood out by the line, hanging the laundry up to dry. But when she reached into the basket for the last item, a worn, moss-green shirt, she found it empty. Looking up, she saw the little fox holding the shirt in its mouth. It leapt, dropping the shirt, then picked it up again.

As the literary fairy tale spread in France to every age group and every social class, it began to serve different functions, depending on the writer's interests. It represented the glory and ideology of the French aristocracy. It provided a symbolic critique, with utopian connotations, of the aristocratic hierarchy, largely within the aristocracy itself and from the female viewpoint. It introduced the norms and values of the bourgeois civilizing process as more reasonable and egalitarian than the feudal code. As a divertissement for the aristocracy and bourgeoisie, the fairy tale diverted the attention of listeners/readers from the serious sociopolitical problems of the times, compensating for the deprivations that the upper classes perceived themselves to be suffering. There was also an element of self-parody, revealing the ridiculous notions in previous fairy tales and representing another aspect of court society to itself; such parodies can be seen in Jacques Cazotte's "A Thousand and One Follies" (1746), Jean-Jacques Rousseau's "The Queen Fantasque" (1758), and Voltaire's "The White Bull" (1774). Finally, fairy tales with clear didactic and moral lessons were approved as reading matter to serve as a subtle, more pleasurable means of initiating children into the class rituals and customs that reinforced the status quo.

Bedtime tales, myths, legends, fairy tales, lie the lessons and examples of what a Goddess would do.

Believe it. The world isn't all fairy tales and pixie dust. You need to grow up and face reality.

Beneath the notebook she found the book of fairy tales. The cover was green cardboard, the writing gold: 'Magical Tales for Girls and Boys', by Eliza Makepeace. Cassandra repeated the author's name, enjoying the mysterious rustle against her lips. She opened it up and inside the front cover was a picture of a fairy sitting in a bird's woven nest: long flowing hair, a wreath of stars around her head, and large, translucent wings. When she looked more closely, Cassandra realized that the fairy's face was the same as that in the sketch. A line of spidery writing curled around the base of the nest, proclaiming her "Your storyteller, Miss Makepeace.

Blonde hair and blue eyes," she repeated. "The lavender fairy." "Now, hang on a minute!" "Just like the lavender fairy has. There's an old story about the beautiful fairy called Lavandula who was born in the wild lavender of the Lure mountain. She grew up and began to wander further from the mountain, looking for somewhere special to make her home. One day she came across the stony, uncultivated landscapes of Haute Provence, and the pitiful sight made her so sad she cried hot tears- hot mauve tears that fell into the ground and stained it. And that is where, ever afterwards, the lavender of her birthplace began to grow.

Det er midnatt: bøkene lukket, ryddet bort til det ordløse møte med tankens gjæster, og lampen slukket.

Don’t you think it’s best that you stay away from mortals? You know they break so easily these days.

Every affair is a fairy tale or a tragedy.

Consider a girl who keeps slipping off, arms limp as old carrots, into the hypnotist's trance, into a spirit world speaking with the gift of tongues.

Did I ever tell you the difference between a Northern fairy tale and a Southern one?" she asked him, indulging herself and letting her head rest on his shoulder. God, he felt good. Her man. Where her head was meant to lie, right there, on him. "What's the difference?" "A Northern one starts 'once upon a time,' while a Southern one starts 'y'all ain't going to believe this shit.

Envy said, “Girl, I remember well, ye, who I flung from Hell, and not a day has passed, I haven’t missed the loss of your soul that I mourned, I’ve been bereft and forlorn, for the sweet taste of your flesh I’ve yet to kiss. But no worries—bygones, that’s the past—long gone, I don’t hold a grudge, no, in no way. And though your family they did swindle my joy of flaying ye on a spindle, I begrudge ye not a little, so let’s play. So, merely toss your token in my well, and all your dreams I will unveil, for ye alone, them I’ll grant. Come closer, little Penny, your hands I know are not empty, ye have something I dreadfully want.

Everything happens; some get hurt maybe a fairy tale of damage but nature can't be change. We just walk away with memories that carries a story being made after as history.

Everyone knew you shouldn't go biting into fruit offered to you by magical creatures in the woods, even if you'd thought until just five minutes ago that such stories were, you know, only stories.

Everyone wants the fairy tale, but don’t forget there are dragons in those stories.

Fairy tale doesn’t always have a happy ending. But still, it’s a fairy tale. So does first love. It might not be happy, but it doesn’t have always to be sad. It’s just love.

Fairytales have rules. We may never understand them but they've been hammered into our heads since infancy. Eventually, even the rebels conform.

Fear is a powerful enemy, but not one too strong to overcome.

Fairy tale about a little girl, who wasn’t afraid of death. Her fragile bones looked as white coffins where birds used to sleep.

Fairy-tales exist and the best proof for this is our own childhood! Yes, childhood is a real fairy tale!

For the hand of a beauty with honest words and sensibilities so mighty.“ Though your mother and father had hoped for something more fragile (and flighty),

For it is a true fact that faeries, just like people, very often find that a full belly and a good friend are all that they need to be happy.

Hallo, Fremder", sagte er zu dem zweiten Reisenden. "Die Welt ist klein! Lange her, seit unsere Köpfe Seite an Seite auf dem Kissen lagen." "Eine Ewigkeit!", rief der andere. Da wusste Clement, dass sie alle einander fremd waren und dass die stürmische Nacht vor ihnen lag.

He sunk his head down, looking like a defeated giant out of some fairy tale.

He threw the knife at Karian’s face, deliberately catching his temple. “Sons of Kings shouldn’t play with sharp toys.

For a moment in time she had been a lady, someone who was wanted...

Go out into the world, traveler. See what the long nights and hard days feel like, after a week of them.” “Perhaps I will like them,” Vasya retorted, with spirit. “I sincerely hope not.

He looked like a thing broken loose from a bedtime story, something unreal ... The giant watched her from above with a bizarre contemplation, his head tilted acrook, as if he'd snared some exquisite fairy from a storybook tale his own.

He’s jealous because lions are better hunters.”--Monroe “Are you compensating for something, Monroe?” --Bastian

His princess was dusty.

History books say that kings and dukes and generals start wars. Don't believe it. We start them, you and I. Every time we turn away, keep quiet, stay out of it, behave ourselves.

His [(Rumpelstiltskin)] feeling that his name, which is his identity, must be kept secret, or else he'll be revealed to the world as the hunchbacked, shriveled, ridiculous creature he knows himself to be. And if that happens, he'll disappear.

His tiny toes wiggled as they were ready to go.

His whole life was a sham, a fairy tale. The truth hidden behind a wall of lies, each lie another brick in the wall until he probably couldn't see the truth anymore.

He wasn't having me try on a glass slipper, but for some strange reason, I finally understood exactly why Cinderella ran off with the prince after having only known him for one night. Having a hot guy kneeling in front of you is sort of intoxicating.

He will say less than he means, and conceal more than he reveals.

I admit, I bear my share of the responsibility for their getting it all wrong, so I guess I’m just going to tell this story as if you knew nothing, because, in reality, even if you read every single article published up to the moment of the big announcement, about the truth, you do know nothing.

Aleksei with his impossible curls so very like her own, yet less seemly perhaps. Such hair is somewhat fairy-tale in a man. Poetic.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending. How long I can contain the storm I am becoming; the emotions pushed aside that grow and strengthen, clamoring for their release. I can resist only so much. One day I won’t be able to fake a smile or weave a lie. One day I am going to explode.

I don’t feel like a traveler now,” Vasya admitted, low, to Morozko . “Neither do travelers, often enough,” the frost-demon returned.

I am no prince if not yours. -Brandon Maxfield

If by it, you mean that big ass vein in the middle of your forehead, then yeah. It moved all right and it’s still pulsing.

If I had been born in the 1700′s, presumably children had a bigger vocabulary than I had which means I wouldn’t have been able to recite fairy tales to kids because I’m not smart enough. You know…? I’d have to be like…..uh: In time passed, though not long ago, there lived three pigs in stature, little in number, three, who being of an age both entitled and inspired to seek their fortune did set about to do thusly. When they had traveled a distance, pig numbered first spake saying, “Harken Brethren, head this impetuous realm! Tarry me far from hearth and home I fear we shall fair *snort* not well!” And so being collectively agreed, but individually impaled, the diminutive swine sought each to erect himself an abode.....