Best 305 quotes in «fairy tale quotes» category

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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 princess was dusty.

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.

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.

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 do the same with my books...Nothing like a good argument in the margins with someone who's already said all they have to say on the subject.

I am no prince if not yours. -Brandon Maxfield

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.

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.....

In hundreds of years of wish fulfillment, never once to the demon’s bereavement, had a wish gone unable to be yielded. It was love this day, which defeated the curse, and there in Hell there was little worse, than the dark forces of evil gone unwielded.

I'll not be lyin' if I tell ya that I fancy ya a bit myself." "The fancy feelings are mutual." A grin curved her lips right before Declan pressed a kiss to them.

I’m Detective Piper of the Fairyland Metro Police, and I've been called in to investigate the incident of the missing frog prince…

I'm going to refrain from hitting you for being such a dunce, Your Highness.

I found the kingdom of far far away, prince charming would not be so far.

I have always loved fairy tales, even now at the age when I am supposed to be too grown up and cynical for them.

I have had you in my life for so long, I want to know when the dream ends and the fairy-tale begins...

in 1068, it would have already been impossible for Hansel and Gretel to walk more than four miles through any English wood without bursting back out into open feilds. The landscape of fairy tales is symbolic: "The forest is where you are when your surroundings are not mastered.

In Pliny I read about the invention of clay modeling. A Sicyonian potter came to Corinth. There his daughter fell in love with a young man who had to make frequent long journeys away from the city. When he sat with her at home, she used to trace the outline of his shadow that a candle’s light cast on the wall. Then, in his absence she worked over the profile, deepening, so that she might enjoy his face, and remember. One day the father slapped some potter’s clay over the gouged plaster; when the clay hardened he removed it, baked it, and "showed it abroad" (63).

It’s a funny thing to be the product of a fairy-tale romance. It’s another thing to think you might find one yourself. You can read the stories and watch the movies, and you can think you know how it’s all supposed to unfold. But the truth is, love is as much fate as it is planning, as much a beauty as it is a disaster. Finding a prince might mean kissing a lot of frogs. Or kicking a lot of frogs out of your house. Falling might mean running headfirst into something you always wanted. Or dipping your toe into something you’ve been scared of your whole life. Happily ever after could be waiting in a field a mile wide. Or a window as narrow as seven minutes.

In the thick of the woods with a carpet of matted needles, the sharp scent of pine, and the fragrant breezes of a winter wind, she was home.

…I remember this tree!” I exclaimed. “We used to climb it all the time.” Peter seemed to have this in mind also, because as I spoke he was already starting to climb the tree. “You don’t expect me to climb that tree in this dress, do you,” I said, looking up at him. He smiled down at me. “Of course you do,” I said, shaking my head. “Of course.” Taking off my boots, I began to climb up after Peter.

I suspect that it refers to that friend of our childhood, the prince of the old folk tale; the young man who travels for seven miles and comes to seven gates guarded by seven dragons, and passes through all sorts of perils, which are marked at once by moral heroism and mathematical symmetry. It is he who is to be exhibited in as a despot and oppressor; as a despot of elfland and an oppressor of seven-headed dragons. As he is rather a remote as well as a romantic figure, it may be a little difficult for historians to discover what were his true colours. His true colours, so far as I am concerned, are silver and gold and crimson, and all the colours of the rainbow.

It’s destiny; the stars have aligned perfectly to bring us together as friends. You cannot argue with what’s meant to be, once the stars have spoken, it is absolute,” he uttered, all smug and knowing. Shocked that he used the word destiny, I cocked my head and shot him a look—for the first time actually seeing Parker. He was pretty…too pretty to be a guy; streaky blond hair—as if each streak had been strategically placed—dark eyes, pale skin, and a charming smile that dimpled in one cheek. “Destiny has already found me, with a clearly marked path for my future,” I retorted. “Then you are doubly fortunate, to have it find you twice.” Parker smiled again, his eyes eerily piercing into mine.

It’s destiny; the stars have aligned perfectly to bring us together as friends. You cannot argue with what’s meant to be, once the stars have spoken, it is absolute,” he uttered, all smug and knowing. Shocked that he used the word destiny, I cocked my head and shot him a look—for the first time actually seeing Parker. He was pretty…too pretty to be a guy; streaky blond hair—as if each streak had been strategically placed—dark eyes, pale skin, and a charming smile that dimpled in one cheek. “Destiny has already found me, with a clearly marked path for my future,” I retorted. “Then you are doubly fortunate, to have it find you twice.” Parker smiled again, his eyes eerily piercing into mine. Parker and Danielle

It's going to be a grand adventure and a fairy tale of marvels. But it's my fault that you'll find a dragon at the end, my darling knight.

It's like a fairy tale. . . on crack!

It was a glistening citadel of limestone, hard and smooth with creamy whites and speckled grays. This was, no doubt, the place mighty kings called home, and with awe, it stole Fawn’s breath away.

It was only as part of the civilizing process that storytelling developed within the aristocratic and bourgeois homes, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries through governesses and nannies, and later in the eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries through mothers, who told bedtime stories.