Best 4015 quotes in «fantasy quotes» category

You have this great big fantasy life, and it looks like a non-stop 24/7 party. But what do you do when you get to the end of the Internet and there's nothing left to buy? There's just a picture of Wayne Newton flipping you off.

You have so many sources to draw on when you're a fantasy writer.

Your memories become fantasies if they are not shared, and your life in all its triviality becomes a legend.

Your whole life is nothing but a dream. You live in a fantasy where everything you know about yourself is only true for you. Your truth is not the truth for anyone else.

You slide down in your seat and make yourself comfortable. On the screen in front of you, the movie image appears—enormous and overwhelming. If the movie is a good one, you allow yourself to be absorbed in its fantasy, and its dreams become part of your memories

Above, the stars faded behind the misty sky, and the sun fanned its light upon us. We melted into each other until the dawn slid into dusk, and the sun paled into the moon, and the stars, once lost, became found again.

A bad conscience makes a very good ghost.

A Book A Day Keeps the Naughty Away...

A bit of fantasy can be good for ones heart

Accept it,” Rakturan said. “I am different than the man you first met.” “So quickly?” “What is time? A thousand years can pass in a single day.

Acaso por ley natural o regla del destino, todo hecho que adquiere alguna trascendencia tiende a repetirse." (Zettel - Filosofía de los gatos)

A Baba Yaga never breaks a promise. Legs, yes. Hearts, occasionally. But never a promise.

Above all else, do not fear to climb the victory tower.

A cada paso, hemos sido frustrados por dios. No el Dios verdadero. Un dios falso creado por el hombre para contribuir a su destrucción de la Tierra. Es el dios-glotón que ve bien engullirlo todo en nombre de una humanidad completamente egoísta. Sus diez mandamientos son: yo primero (déjame vivir como quiera); los humanos primero (que todos los otros seres vivos mueran en mi beneficio); el esperma primero (nada de control de natalidad); los nacimientos primero (nada de abortos); los hombres primero (nada de derechos de la mujer); mi cultura/tribu/religión primero (separatismo/terrorismo); mi raza primero (nada de derechos humanos); mi política primero (puñeteros liberales/podridos reaccionarios); mi país primero (ondea la bandera, la bandera, la bandera); y, sobre todo, los beneficios primero.

Accept the pain, but don't accept that you deserved it.

Accidenti, hai un buon odore. Cos’è, comunque? Sembra un po’ come...» Diede un’altra annusata dubbiosa. «Biscotti con gocce di cioccolato appena usciti dal forno. Ho lo stesso odore per te?» «No.» Rory scosse la testa con decisione. Casey sembrò un po’ spiazzato. «Oh. Beh, okay.» «No,» sospirò Rory, «profumi di zucchero filato.

Actions have reactions, nonetheless. People rarely show up at Hell's doorstep clutching a map of bad intentions.

A conscience can be a dangerous thing

A country road, a gravel road, is a sign of civilization, sure, but it’s just a farm, an easy conquest. Iron means a stronghold, people who can defend what’s theirs.

Adam glanced at me. His grin was back. I’d forgotten how easily he could wind me up. “You know, Eliza,” he said, “maybe you’re missing something here.” “You’re going to be missing a few teeth if you don’t explain yourself,” I growled.

Adamın ateş rengindeki saçları hakiki bir kızıldı. Gözleri koyu renkli ve dalgındı. Adam pek çok şeyi bilmekten gelen ve hemen göze çarpmayan bir güvenle hareket ediyordu. Yoltaşı onundu, tıpkı üçüncü sessizliğin de onun olduğu gibi. Bu da münasipti, zira bu sessizlik en büyüğüydü ve diğer ikisini sarıp sarmalıyordu. Güz sonu kadar derin ve genişti. Üzerinden nehirlerin aktığı kocaman bir kaya kadar ağırdı. Ölmeyi bekleyen bir adamın sabırlı, sapı kesilen bir çiçeğinkine benzer sesiydi.

A deep woman is a universe to explore, she is very challenging; but she is life.

A coffin... I'm in a coffin. The stories told to frighten children and old men, of warriors injured in battle and believed dead by their comrades, only to wake up buried six feet beneath the ground, assailed me and i started to breathe too quickly, using too much air. Already i felt as if i was suffocating, trapped underground. Had they thought i'd lost too much blood? Was my heartbeat too soft or slow? Could Kest and Brasti truly have been foolish enough to think that-? Brasti I bellowed, and the sound of my voice echoed over the surface of the wood around me, "I'm going to fucking kill you this time you heartless son of a bitch!" A distant guffaw was followed by the sound of footsteps running towards me and brasti calling, "Hang on, hang on, I'm coming..." Blinding candlelight forced me to close my eyes as my prison lifted off me, and when i opened them again i saw that i hadn't actually been inside the coffin at all- Brasti had just removed the lid from one and flipped the rest over top of me.

A crush of bodies surrounded the featureless monument. The enraged dead clambered atop their ghastly kin. Caiaphas tucked his knees to his chest and hugged his legs tightly, staring at the scores of ragged, flailing hands as they scratched for purchase over the edge of the cylinder. Metal thrummed and thunder roared, filling his head. Now there were words within the deafening roar. “Straaaange,” they seemed to say. “Daaaace…” “Straaaangerrrr…” Then a quick, awful chant: “CAIAPHAS! FOREVER! CAI—” And with a piercing whistle it ended as his eardrums burst.

Adapt or die. It was savagely simple." -- Celeste ALL LIGHT WILL FALL

A death in reverse is the rewinding of life. I do not die of old age, in a bed surrounded by strangers my loved ones paid to take care of me. I die in reverse. I die falling back into a younger age. From my forty-five years to twenty-five. To sixteen. When we were in love. To fourteen: when we first met. To five. To one. To the hospital my mother died at from the complications of my existence. A life for a life.

Adventuring turned out to be boring. Zach thought back to all the fantasy books he'd read where a team of questers traveled overland, and realized a few things. First he'd pictured himself with a loyal steed that would have done most of the walking, so he hadn't anticipated the blister forming on his left heel or the tiny pebble that seemed to have worked its way under his sock, so that even when he stripped off his sneaker he couldn't find it. He hadn't thought about how hot the sun would be either. When he put together his bunch of provisions, he never thought about bringing sunblock. Aragorn never wore sunblock. Taran never wore sunblock. Percy never wore sunblock. But despite all that precedent for going without, he was pretty sure his nose would be lobster-red the next time he looked in the mirror. He was thirsty, too, something that happened a lot in books, but his dry throat bothered him more than it had ever seemed to bother any character. And, unlike in books where random brigands and monsters jumped out just when things got unbearably dull, there was nothing to fight except for the clouds of gnats, several of which Zach was pretty sure he'd accidentally swallowed.

A face stared up at her from the mirror beside her hand. Was that really what she looked like? Was that really what she looked like, all sharp lines and huge silver-grey eyes? Certainly, no one would ever call those features beautiful, Jame thought ruefully; but were they really enough like a boy's to have fooled that old man the alley? Well, maybe with that long black hair out of sight under a cap. It was a very young face and a defiant one, she thought with a odd sense of detachment, but frightened, too. And those extraordinary eyes... what memories lived in them that she could not share? Stranger, where have you been she asked silently. What have you seen? The thin lips locked in their secrets. "Ahhh!" Jame said in sudden disgust, tossing away the mirror. Fool, to be obsessed with a past she couldn't even remember. But it was all behind her now.

A faerie heart is different from a human heart. Human hearts are elastic. They have room for all sorts of passions, and they can break and heal and love again and again. Faerie hearts are evolutionarily less sophisticated. They are small and hard, like tiny grains of sand. Our hearts are too small to love more than one person in a lifetime...I tried to talk sense into my hard little heart. But it had landed on Peter, a creature two hundred times my size and barely aware of me, and there was no prying it loose.

A fantasy is a journey. It is a journey into the subconscious mind, just as psychoanalysis is. Like psychoanalysis, it can be dangerous; and it will change you.

A few steps into the trees, you glance back to see the snow has already covered your prints.

A false image is, of course, a work of art, an idol. And a lie. A narcissist identifies with this image, not his true inner self. So, all he cares about is his image, not what kind of person he really is. Indeed, the latter has no real existence in his world. In identifying with his image, he's identifying with an ephemeral figment that has but virtual reality, a purely immanent existence as a reflection in the attention shone on him by others. No attention, no image. No image, no self!

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After all, fire and blood and death were nothing to a country led by a dragon.

A geas was a contract with the goddess of Fate. Sometimes one was born indentured, other times it was bestowed upon one as a curse. Because if one did not fulfill the terms of one's geas, one died. It was old magic, the magic of the gods, spoken in the tongues of those who controlled the dragons—and it was supposed to be extinct.

Advice is superfluous to you, allies are superfluous, you’ll get by without any travelling companions. The goal of your expedition is, after all, personal and private. More than that, the nature of the goal demands that you accomplish it alone, in person. The risks, dangers, hardships and constant struggle with doubt must only burden you. For, after all, they are components of the penance, the expiation of guilt you want to earn. A baptism of fire, I’d say. You’ll pass through fire, which burns, but also purges. And you’ll do it alone. For were someone to support you in this, help you, take on even a scrap of that baptism of fire, that pain, that penance, they would, by the same token, impoverish you. They would deprive you of part of the expiation you desire, which would be owed to them for their involvement. After all, it should be your exclusive expiation.

Adventure is something that happens to someone else. When it's happening to you, it's only trouble.

A female dragon’s tail is of the utmost importance to her. Male dragons find them irresistible. After all where do you think the term ‘Getting some tail’ came from?

A flower. White and whiskered in a fringe of ice. Silken petals held together in a loose grip

A fortress doesn’t fall unless its towers are weakened.

After every battle, he ritually dips his hood into the blood of his enemies. I’ve seen the hood, kept under glass in the armory. The fabric is stiff and stained a brown so deep it’s almost black, except for a few smears of green. Sometimes I go down and stare at it, trying to see my parents in the tide lines of dried blood. I want to feel something, something besides a vague queasiness. I want to feel more, but every time I look at it, I feel less.

After some time, Fisher said, “Per aspera ad astra.” Quincy turned towards him. “What’s that?” “Latin. It means to the stars through difficulties.” By natural extension of the conversation, she looked up, viewing the faint points of light fighting down through a soft haze. “Does anyone make it, Fisher? To the stars?” “I believe we have, Quince. We’ve seen the worst but known the best.

A golden dragon. Splendid. My life expectancy has just become shorter than a gnome’s todger.

A good life is never lived without a bit of risk, and this battle is well worth every one.

A grim expression came over Syah’s face. “The colt you speak of lost its mother during a storm. If this stallion was that colt, it is not just wild, it is insane. That horse will break your bones.” “And that will be a worthy end, a prince struck down by such a noble steed.” Fasime pushed himself off the support of the fence, but Oman grabbed his arm. “It’s not worth it, Brother.” “I can tame him.” “What will we tell Mother and Father if he kills you?” Oman questioned. “Tell them I gave my life with pride. Do not punish him if he kills me. Release him back into the wild, and my spirit will ride him into the mist.

Ah, but don't you see? It is when things are most quiet that you must be most alert. For you never know what lurks in the silence.

Ah, life in medieval times! Yeah, we only have to worry about losing our heads every day.

Ah, that’s just sean nós singing and dancing. Something to do around the pub of an evening.

Alainn, it is no herb that has made me so entirely insatiable, 'tis just being with you.

Alderic, Knight of the Order of the City and the Assault, hereditary Guardian of the King's Peace of Mind, a man not unremembered among the makers of myth, pondered so long upon the Gibbelins' hoard that by now he deemed it his. Alas that I should say of so perilous a venture, undertaken at dead of night by a valorous man, that its motive was sheer avarice! Yet upon avarice only the Gibbelins relied to keep their larders full, and once in every hundred years sent spies into the cities of men to see how avarice did, and always the spies returned again to the tower saying that all was well. It may be thought that, as the years went on and men came by fearful ends on that tower's wall, fewer and fewer would come to the Gibbelins' table: but the Gibbelins found otherwise. ("The Hoard Of The Gibbelins")