Best 4015 quotes in «fantasy quotes» category

Mimir took a few seconds. “Yes! There’s a...distortion here. An SEP field, maybe?” “What’s that?” asked Lara. “It’s sort of like an invisibility spell.” “I thought invisibility was impossible to achieve.” “It is. This is more of a don’t-notice-what’s-none-of-your-business spell.” “But this is our business.” “Ah, yes, good point.

Mind gleams in every atom of the Universe.

Miraculously, I keep it together, although I would love to just slap the stupid out of them.

Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children is a amazing book, I love it

Miss Breland was fairly tall for a female. She had to be about 5'10." The black skinny jeans that she wore made her legs even more impossibly lengthened. The jeans were paired with a soft gray Angora sweater that hugged her petite frame. Just before she turned to take her seat, she looked up directly into my eyes, and smiled shyly. She was a beautiful creature.

Mistasinon stood as the music of life flowed around him, the instrument of his agency muted.

Mit der Magie verhält es sich ein wenig wie mit der Mathematik: Sie ist eine präzise Wissenschaft mit klaren Regeln, die Uneingeweihten aber nur schwer zu erklären sind; und auf ihre Weise sind die Lehren eines Einstein auch nicht weniger magisch als die der großen Mystiker von einst.

Mmm.” Sebastian moaned. “It’s so delicious.” He laughed then. “It’s not the Poisonous Desert; it’s the Oreo Desert.” He scooped up handfuls of dirt and stones and funneled it into his mouth. He licked his palms, his teeth grinding against rock. “Did the plant scramble his brains?” Firen asked, her lips twitching just a smidgen. “The plant’s poison makes you delusional,” Gabriella informed as Egnatious and Firen yanked Sebastian to his feet. “He’ll probably be a bit Looneyville for a while.

Monch was on no simple retreat. The journey he had plotted for himself was much longer, and took him many buckets away from Appollon to Angarr's Sorrow, the land of fetid bogs in southeastern Sarthiss. This was a world far away from everything he knew... from everyone he knew. Granted, the list of people he knew was exceptionally short, especially since Monch was horrible with names and only slightly less horrible with faces. Regardless, he did not wish to accidentally advertise his inexperience to anyone he might possibly know, which is why he travelled so far afield. There were ruins in the swamps, ruins hidden under years of neglect and heavy with decay. Things lurked in those ruins, inhuman beasts with forbidden hungers. He intended to use the dangers of the swamps as the whetstone that would hone his abilities to a razor-keen edge. Monch would test his blade against and come back all the stronger... ...or dead. No... that wasn't right. Given the fact that he was immortal, death really wasn't an option. So then, he would come back stronger... ...or something something horrible. Monch decided to fill in those particular details later on, when he had time to ponder his autobiography at length. He would tidy up that particular idiom later.

Money Chiefs, loud and long notes are not songs. Silent snow wets Earth, seeds grow, flowers' honey purses seek neither wealth nor power, and the forest's quiet wisdom needs no wind to blow.

Monsters preferred solitude.

Months passed away without dreams about the Agni Ki…or my father. My new life began to find new rhythm. But then…as suddenly as it always does…everything changed.

Mortals were such fickle creatures. They called into the dark, demanded answers and attention from forces they could not comprehend, and yet when they had that attention and those answers, they complained about them.

Moria bowed low to the king of Firgaard. She did not meet his gaze for fear he would see the raging fire in her eyes. She did not speak her name for fear he would hear the sharpened edge of her voice.

Mörkret fyller mig i några gnistor, den här gången på ett rogivande sätt. Som om det hälsar mig välkommen tillbaka.

Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: 'Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy

Most high and happy princess, we must tell you a tale of the Man in the Moon, which if it seem ridiculous for the method, or superfluous for the matter, or for the means incredible, for three faults we can make but one excuse: it is a tale of the Man in the Moon. It was forbidden in old time to dispute of chimaera, because it was a fiction. We hope in our times none will apply pastimes, because they are fancies; for there liveth none under the sun that knows what to make of the Man in the Moon. We present neither comedy, nor tragedy, nor story, nor anything, but . . . that whosoever heareth may say this: 'Why, here is a tale of the Man in the Moon'.

Most people create a destiny of minutiae, of the mundane. They create their own limitations. When the moment comes for them to stretch and leap, they find themselves boxed in, locked down by their own fears.

Most people will tell you growing up means you stop believing in Halloween things - I’m telling you the reverse. You start to grow up when you understand that the stuff that scares you is part of the air you breathe.

Most people’s lives were stories with mysterious endings. Mine was a story with a beginning I could never make sense of. It was like fifty different unrelated strands I couldn’t weave into a solid crystal.

Most tales carry a kernel of truth, else they're soon forgotten.

Mrs Hargreaves liked her job and she liked the Hoopers. As far as she was concerned there was far too much twaddle being talked about Glade Hall, by people with too much time on their hands. “Over fertile imaginations.” She’d told the new head gardener. Some of the locals had worked for the hotel and told stories of seeing shadows around the grounds, when the light was just right. As if shadows could hurt anyone ! It was all twaddle and nonsense.

Mrs. Pott's beady black eyes narrowed,"Do you know how many glass slippers I have to stitch when I get home? There's a Mad Hatter serenading a toaster as we speak. There could be mayhem wreaking havoc all over the love in New Gotham, granted what thankless ingrates you are. But here I am! I've taken a chance on you..

Mr. Jennings is the one who trapped the fairies here to begin with. If they’re back and wandering around, if they’re loose, then, well, it’s not good.

Mrs. Potts beady black eyes narrowed,"Do you know how many glass slippers I have to stitch when I get home? There's a Mad Hatter serenading a toaster as we speak. There could be mayhem wreaking havoc all over the love in New Gotham, granted what thankless ingrates you are. But here I am!

Ms Rainn, when was the last time you visited a library for the books and not the free Internet it offers?

Murphy didn’t appear to notice my chagrin, but instead pulled up the hem of his long-sleeved tee to wipe at his face. Since he flashed his sculpted abdominals right at me, I grew hot and flushed. I mean, you could see every dip and curve, including the ones on either hip that made a V to lead the eye to the fly of his jeans.

Music took her somewhere, and I used to wonder where. I thought it was dumb, the way she lived for a collection of sounds, for someone else's words and notes.

My child will bear those scars forever,” Tilv said angrily. “And if he isn’t a fool, perhaps your child will learn from them,” Neferre returned calmly.

My body felt alive. I need more. "Valkyrie," Fen growled, eyes locked on my mouth. "Put your lips back on mine, and I will give you what you crave.

My creativity keeps me from starving. Humanity keeps my life mundane. Loving secures my love for life, but my imagination keeps me sane.

My body is no longer mine. My soul dormant. I am once again, possessed. www.thethreeimmortalblades.com

My eyes are open now and can never be closed.

My body is my own," I said. "I may choose to share it with someone, but it's not for sale or for hire, nor is it a reward. I'd rather starve to death than use it as such.

My bones always crack. Sometimes, I like to imagine that one day, my back will split open, and beautiful wings will emerge.

My dad liked to say that magic itself is never black; only the uses to which it is put, but mind magic is already tinted a deep, dark gray.

My death granted immortality. With one look, I knew he’d be my undoing…” Forgotten, book #1 of the Fate Trilogy

My father used to say that when hunting a shark, we should either kill it or let it go. To cage a shark is sheer cruelty, and I cannot live like a shark in a cage any longer.

My heart almost vaulted out of my chest. I was snuggled against Ryan’s shoulder. We were burrowed under the cloak and sleeping bag, and my hand rested on his cheek, about to swat the stray hair that had fallen over my face. This wouldn’t have been so bad, if not for one tiny detail. Ryan was awake.

My heart is on the brink of a world so foreign that it feels like a fantasy. Blessed do I feel when I think of your heart which is so warm that it melts the frozen world we live in. Blessed I am with all of you that I hold near and dear to my heart.

My heart was oaken before you set it on fire. It will continue to smolder, long after the flame that ignited it has gone.

My inner bitch could handle this peon without even breaking a sweat.

My lips twitched into a righteous smile. I felt godlike. Justified. Valko would pay for his crimes here and now, and I wound not weep with regret.

My mama says people saying no is just like using the back door to get into the house. You can still get in, just a different way.

My mind does not change with the rising and setting of a few suns

My memories came back like a punch in the face. Only good.

My number one fear is heights. Well, not so much the heights but the falling from heights. Actually the falling isn’t that bad (I have a strong heart), it’s the sudden stops that are painful. Believe me — I experienced it once.

My parents think the longer the name, the more powerful the sorcerer, so they named me Cassandra Morgan Ursula Margaret Scot. You can call me Cassie.

My stomach knotted up as heat surged through me. Why did I feel like melting every time I saw him, or heard him talk? “Stop that right now.” I blushed. “I know what you’re doing, Jace, and it’s not going to work.” Jace and Charlie.

My head feels like there's a bard with a bad voice inside, and he won't shut up.