Best 4015 quotes in «fantasy quotes» category

Chris had been a genuinely nice guy – a guy with a warm heart and friendly demeanour. What’s more, he, Mortimer, had lived and laughed alongside him – something his dead companions didn’t exactly evoke. OK. So they had their uses from time to time and offered him company when he desired it. Even so, that was it. They were dead, not living. Anyway, their conversations weren’t exactly inspiring.

CHORONZON "I am anti-life, the beast of judgement. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, Gods, worlds... of everything. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?" MORPHEUS "I am hope.

C, it was like my breath was stolen. My heart seemed to merge with yours. When you came into my life, all I wanted was you. All I thought about was you. Your smile, your laugh, your lips, and your eyes seemed to hold me captive.” ~Tru~

Claire. It was the last candle left within the Indian Agent. The last glimmer. He curled himself around it to keep it alive, and when the storm inhaled he studied his right hand, could feel her beside him in the carriage that night and, as if he could insist on this, looked up the depression he was calling a road, for the cabman's blindered horse, huffing through the snow, its lanterns swinging. Claire waiting for him on the worn velvet seat.

Classic fairy tales do not deny the existence of heartache and sorrow, but they do deny universal defeat.

Closed head trauma is about as much fun as nude paintballing.

Close your eyes, Sophia. Look at the table in your mind. What does it look like? What's on the menu? Taste it. Tell me." She closed her eyes. Enveloped by all that was Elliott. She tried to concentrate and ignore those rough fingers on her cheek. "Shrimp wrapped in Thai basil and prosciutto, crisped on the grill, drizzled with olive oil and fresh lime juice. It's Emilia's favorite." "Mmm. Keep going. Don't stop." His lips were almost touching her forehead. His breath on her skin. "Grilled filet mignon with my peppercorn sauce. White, red, pink peppercorns. The girls get them for me when they travel. That's our special dinner. Our decadent meal." "More." His lips grazed her ear. Sophia's eyes were tightly shut, but she had to suppress a shudder. "Vegetable salad on baby greens from my garden. Yellow peppers, green zucchini, purple eggplant, lightly grilled. With a sherry vinaigrette and fresh herbs. All the colors of the rainbow." "Lovely. Keep going." She could no longer hear the buzz of crickets or throaty calls of the frogs. Just Elliott's breathing. Steady. Intense. "Wine, lots of wine," she said huskily. She felt his chuckle against her cheek. "Well, this is my fantasy, right? It must have wine." "Of course it does. Keep going." "Home-made gelato. Lemon. With lemon zest and lemon basil and lemon verbena. And crunchy toasted macadamia nuts on top.

(...) Clay knew better. He and Gabriel had been friends for thirty-five years, and Gabe had been talking him into doing recklessly stupid shit for damn near all of them. He was a charismatic craftsman: every heart a furnace, every soul a blade.

Close your senses and the imagination comes alive. It's inside us al, dulled by endless television reruns and by a society that reins in fantasy as something not to be trusted, something to be purged. But it's in there, deep inside, a spark waiting to set a touch-paper alight.

Close’ only counts in horseshoe games and fireball spells

♫ Climbed that roost, alighted right there. Made mush of his head for the onlooker bears. A two-pronger her prize, a meat most rare. Do-gooders will pay. Do-gooders will fear. ♫

Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Come, Leigh, come with me...

Come on!" Clera tossed Nona her shoes and dropped to the floor. "Mistress Spirit is the worst!" "I thought you said the Poisoner was the worst!" "They're all the worst when you're late!

Come! our world is done: For all the witchery of the world is fled, And lost all wanton wisdom long since won.

Come with me Tlothy. Lady misfortune always brings together the unlucky.” Said Aissawa laughing.

Come closer, my dears, let me give you a warning, Of the fate that befalls those who stay out past morning, In the darkest hours before the dawn, When witches roam and demons spawn, And children die with spirit gone, Magicked away in the gloaming.

Come in, Martise." Silhara's voice was almost sibilant in the darkness as he tagged on her hand. "There are no soul eaters here." No, she thought. Only heart thieves.

Come, kiss me sweet, and then let us return to bed, for I am tired, and I would sleep.

Come what may and hell to pay.

Comfort was that elusive composite of fantasy and hope.

Comparisons get you nowhere. They only make you ashamed of what you should be grateful for.

Concealing himself from his father's wrath, behind the barn with wick turned low and his face two inches from the rough sawtooth page, Young Crawford had read of these atrocities in Beadle's Dime Library and fantasized about "calling out" the brutal old man who had sired him, "throwing down" on him with the "hogleg" he wore high on his hip, and blasting him into hell; after which he would go "on the scout," separating high-interest banks and arrogant railroad barons from their soiled coin and distributing it among their victims, or failing that into his own pockets and saddle pouches and living the "high Life" in saloons and "dance halls" where beautiful women in brief costumes admired his straight legs and square jaw and told him of the men who had "ruined" them (he knew not just how, only that the act was disgraceful and its effects permanent), whereupon he sought the blackguards out and deprived them of their lives. There was usually profit involved; invariably the men were thieves who lived in close proximity to their "ill-gotten booty," and didn't it say somewhere in Scripture that robbing a thief was no sin? If it didn't, it should have.

Contentment is quite a different thing from pleasure.

Contar una cosa del pasado comporta también contar una historia del presente. Volver a contar una fantasía, un relato de cosas imaginarias, equivale a volver a contar un relato sobre lo existente.

Contemporary writers use animal-transformation themes to explore issues of gender, sexuality, race, culture, and the process of transformation...just as storytellers have done, all over the world, for many centuries past. One distinct change marks modern retellings, however, reflecting our changed relationship to animals and nature. In a society in which most of us will never encounter true danger in the woods, the big white bear who comes knocking at the door [in fairy tales] is not such a frightening prospective husband now; instead, he's exotic, almost appealing. Whereas once wilderness was threatening to civilization, now it's been tamed and cultivated; the dangers of the animal world have a nostalgic quality, removed as they are from our daily existence. This removal gives "the wild" a different kind of power; it's something we long for rather than fear. The shape-shifter, the were-creature, the stag-headed god from the heart of the woods--they come from a place we'd almost forgotten: the untracked forests of the past; the primeval forests of the mythic imagination; the forests of our childhood fantasies: untouched, unspoiled, limitless. Likewise, tales of Animal Brides and Bridegrooms are steeped in an ancient magic and yet powerfully relevant to our lives today. They remind us of the wild within us...and also within our lovers and spouses, the part of them we can never quite know. They represent the Others who live beside us--cat and mouse and coyote and owl--and the Others who live only in the dreams and nightmares of our imaginations. For thousands of years, their tales have emerged from the place where we draw the boundary lines between animals and human beings, the natural world and civilization, women and men, magic and illusion, fiction and the lives we live.

«Con te sono ancora il ragazzo di campagna che si è presentato sotto la Grande Quercia con la donna più bella di tutte le terre drenai.» «Non sono mai stata bella» ribatté Rowena «ma mi fa piacere sentirtelo affermare.» «Lo eri... e lo sei» garantì Druss.

Corvid looked up at her. "Oh, hello Doris." "Gertie, dear," she said. "They call me Gertie." "You used to be Doris," Corvid said as a matter of fact. "Who?" She seemed unsure of what she was being told. "Doris, daughter of Oceanus and Tethys?" Corvid carried on when he saw her blank expression. "You must remember Nereus? Your husband?" Nothing. "You gave birth to fifty sea nymphs. I guess sea nymphs come out slippy and hydrodynamic, but even so, fifty of them? That must stick in the memory as the day before you felt really sore for a month or so?" Doris thought about it for a moment. "It does ring a bell. Sorry, who are you?

Could be I've finally gone crazy, but men crazier than me have done greater things than I've ever dreamed, so we'll see where it takes me." ~ Tom Parker, Imagination Stone

Courage is a well,' Viendre said at Elayne's ear, 'deep in some, shallow in others. Deep or shallow, wells go dry eventually, even if they fill again later. You will face what you cannot face. Your spine will turn to jelly, and your vaunted courage will leave you weeping in the dust. The day will come.

Courage comes in the form of a girl.

Cowell Devlin sighed. Yes, he understood Anna Wetherell at long last, but it was not a happy understanding. Devlin had known many women of poor prospects and limited means, whose only transport out of the miserable cage of their unhappy circumstance was the flight of the fantastic. Such fantasies were invariably magical—angelic patronage, invitations into paradise—and Anna's story, touching though it was, showed the same strain of the impossible. Why, it was painfully clear! The most eligible bachelor of Anna's acquaintance possessed a love so deep and pure that all respective differences between them were rendered immaterial? He was not dead—he was only missing? He was sending her 'messages' that proved the depth of his love—and these were messages that only she could hear? It was a fantasy, Devlin thought. It was a fantasy of the girl's own devising. The boy could only be dead.

Creation of a pregnant imagination.

Crimson covered Her chest, Her throat spread wide like a mouth, and he clutched the wound. “She’s bleeding!

Cruelty is easy to repay, my lord. Kindness is another matter.

Cuando se le agotaba el fuego, ingería de nuevo la lava que había vomitado o devoraba las armas de los enemigos caídos y las fundía en el crisol que tenía por estómago.

Criminal activity exploded throughout the city – thugs multiplied by the thousands. Without fear of rebuke, there was nothing to stop them. It is the ultimate penalty that comes with tolerating the intolerant.

Cuando yaces despierto con un deprimente dolor de cabeza y la ansiedad no deja lugar al reposo, entiendo que puedes usar el lenguaje que prefieras para soñar despierto.

– D’accord, grommelle Radswin, c’est bien vu. Mais c’est suffisant pour convaincre tes ras que ça n’a rien à voir avec le dragon. Quelle idée de leur parler de mines? – Parce que ce sont des mines! s’enthousiasme Littyllytig. Dans la vieille tradition gnomique de Dun Heahcnawan, on transmet le souvenir de ces mines hydrauliques, mais je n’imaginais pas qu’elles aient pu exister dans le Kluferfell, ni qu’elles aient pu être si gigantesques! (nouvelle "Désolation")

Curious about these new entities, the elementals asked why the gods were in the shape they were. "We are bipedal," Erebus said. "We wish to be distinguished from the animals." "What are animals?" an elemental asked. "We're not sure yet, but they will have more than two legs. Unless we give them less than two... or maybe not. Anyway, it's just a concept we're playing with at the moment.

Cursed the crown that brought such grief to me

Damsels were women unable to do anything more complicated than get themselves captured by overgrown lizards with virgin fetishes.

…dancing in the carnage and the flames.

Damian, who do you admire?’ I said, ‘St Roch, sir.’ The others stopped talking. ‘Who does he play for?’ ‘No one, sir. He’s a saint.’ The others went back to football. ‘He caught the plague and hid in the woods so he wouldn’t infect anyone, and a dog came and fed him every day. Then he started to do miraculous cures and people came to see him – hundreds of people – in his hut in the woods. He was so worried about saying the wrong thing to someone that he didn’t say a word for the last ten years of his life.’ ‘ We could do with a few like him in this class. Thank you, Damian.’ ‘ He’s the patron saint of plague, cholera and skin complaints. While alive, he performed many wonders.’ ‘Well, you learn something new.’ He was looking for someone else now, but I was enjoying being excellent. Catherine of Alexandria (4th century) came to mind. ‘They wanted her to marry a king, but she said she was married to Christ. So, they tried to crush her on a big wooden wheel, but it shattered into a thousand splinters – huge sharp splinters – which flew into the crowd, killing and blinding many bystanders.’ ‘ That’s a bit harsh. Collateral damage, eh? Well, thank you, Damian.’ By now everyone had stopped debating players versus managers. They were all listening to me. ‘After that they chopped her head off. Which did kill her, but instead of blood, milk came spurting out of her neck. That was one of her wonders.’ ‘Thank you, Damian.’ ‘She’s the patron saint of nurses, fireworks, wheel-makers and the town of Dunstable (Bedfordshire). The Catherine wheel is named after her. She’s a virgin martyr. There are other great virgin martyrs. For instance, St Sexburga of Ely (670– 700).’ Everyone started laughing. Everyone always laughs at that name. They probably laughed at it in 670– 700 too. ‘Sexburga was Queen of Kent. She had four sisters, who all became saints. They were called—’ Before I could say Ethelburga and Withburga, Mr Quinn said, ‘Damian, I did say thank you.’ He actually said thank you three times. If that doesn’t make me excellent, I don’t know what does. I was also an artistic inspiration, as nearly all the boys painted pictures of the collateral damage at the execution of St Catherine. There were a lot of fatal flying splinters and milk spurting out of necks. Jake painted Wayne Rooney, but he was the only one.

Darius stood and grunted as his thigh reminded him it had an arrow-shaped hole in it.

Darkness will always be...its own master...

Darkness, no matter how powerful it may seem, can be driven back by the tiniest spark.

Dark perversions grow at the empty corners of the soul.

Dans l’ombre, on devinait des fantômes horribles : le cul souillé d’une morte ; le rictus d’un vieux abandonné les pieds dans l’âtre ; le mutisme compissé d’un bambin dans un recoin. (nouvelle "L'elfe et les égorgeurs")

Dark shapes ran about, silhouetted against the glow of fire that lit the village behind.