Best 4015 quotes in «fantasy quotes» category

With the threat of them being potential spies or saboteurs, nobody will argue against our actions, and history itself will vindicate us.

Woher willst du wissen, dass nur das existiert, was wir mit unseren menschlichen Sinnen wahrnehmen können? Wir bilden uns ein, alles zu wissen. Dabei sind uns so viele Bereiche verschlossen, die zum Beispiel Tiere hören oder spüren können. Das beste Beispiel für unsere Beschränktheit ist doch, dass wir seit langem fleißig an dem Ast sägen, auf dem wir sitzen. Welches Geschöpf mit Ausnahme des Menschen wäre so dumm, seinen eigenen Lebensraum zu vernichten?

Wonderland is very, very real. And nothing here is what you think it is.

Wonderful. Mad at home and mad here. Was there nowhere that this Alice was truly sane?

Words are so powerful. It can win wars, create kings, and sustain civilizations. - Wordwick Games by Kailin Gow

Wood and fabric, a symbol of a time long gone. That was not where Masiah dwelled. Not in a temple. Not high up in the oasis hills, as some claimed. If he dwelled anywhere at all, it was not in this forsaken oasis.

Words once spoken can never be taken back. It was something we repeated throughout our lives as we walked through them, something of great importance, of which we were aware just as we were aware of the existence of life itself. Verbum is sacred. Verbum is the reason for our birth and death, the reason for this and a hundred other wars, just as it is for peace and its myriad of forms.

Words didn’t come. I couldn’t formulate a thought. I was too startled. These three figures lying in the sand in front of me weren’t surfers at all. They weren’t even people. From their facial features and upper torsos, they looked kind of like women, but all three of them had silver-colored skin. They were bald, with strange ridges marking their skulls. None of them seemed to have ears, only holes in the sides of their heads. No nose was visible, not even a bone or nostrils filled that space between their eyes and mouths. Although their mouths seemed to be moving, they were actually breathing through what looked like gills in their necks. And if that wasn’t weird enough, instead of legs, their upper torsos stretched out into long, scale-covered, silver fishtails. If I had to say what these things stranded in front of me, splattered with oil, appeared to be, I’d say mermaids. And no, they didn’t look like they’d start singing songs or granting me wishes. They looked a little bit scary—but fragile too. Most of all, they looked like they were going to die, and no handsome prince was there to kiss them and keep them from turning into sea foam.

Work to live up to your dreams and fantasies; to hell with them who ask you to come back to reality.

Would you give up the craft of your hands, and the passion of your heart, and the hunger of your mind, to buy safety?

Would you like me to put you out of your misery, before I put you out of your misery?

Write for joy. It is the *only* reason to write. Whatever happens to your books afterward, just write for joy. Send your current one out when it's done and forget it, start another, and keep on writing for joy. Words I now live by. Welwyn Wilton Katz

Writing is a form of running away. Running away to a place you made with your own hand.

Writing historical fiction has many common traits with writing sci-fi or fantasy books. The past is another country - a very different world - and historical readers want to see, smell and touch what it was like living there.

Writing a novel is like reading a book, you have to keep at it if you want to find out what happens next.

Writing fantasy is like opening a door onto millions of people's dreams that they never knew they were having.

Writing is a form of running away. Running away to a place you made by your own hand.

Writing is for those who love. Loving is for those who live.' I've always loved writing but I believed it would be something best left to when I was old. Looking back, I wonder why I thought that way.

Wynter's Pass was a picturesque region in the north of Vohlfhein, where the Bleak Hills eventually collapsed into the Frozen Sea. From the back of Mr. Buckles, who had been on a slow trot since sunrise, Monch watched the light glisten off of the frozen branches of the evergreens. As the sun warmed the frozen ground, sending the evening's frost into retreat, Monch absorbed the splendor of it all and wondered how expensive the local real estate must be around here. He then contemplated attempting to find an agent that would represent his interests well. "This land is such a spectacular wonder," the Lion of Ahriman declared. "It would be very much sought after if they could just do something about the bears, the White Orts, the wolves, the bloodthirsty cannibals, the snow manapés, the frost wizards, the northern bandit gangs, the dire lynxes, the similarly sounding but not related pygmy bloodthirsty cannibals, the demon possessed yaks, the dead-soul animated trees, the..." Monch paused for a moment. "It just occurred to me that this land is really not safe at all. It seems almost everything in it wants to kill me," the Templar admitted.

yang jadi masalah itu bukan jomblonya loh. tapi ga punya pacarnya.. jomblonya mah sih gpp ya setiap orang mengalaminya ~

Ye are a scoundrel, a black-hearted robber and a rogue,' Stubble said cheerily to the grumbling captain. It was his usual way of haggling, and he'd beaten down the riverman to a decent price for conveying himself and Anvar to Lankarn.

yang tua tebar pesona, yang muda ngumpet.. yang tua yang eksis, yang muda ga kebagian. yang tua sok cakep, yang muda pengen jadi monyet...

yang jomblo jangan ngenes kalo malem minggu ga sengaja ngeliat orang pelukan. paling tidak kita masih memeluk agama (?)

Years ago, when I was about to go on a book tour for Someplace to Be Flying, my editor at the time Terri Windling and I sat down to figure out what to call what I was writing for the interviews that were to come. Terri came up with the term mythic fiction and I think that sums it up perfectly. There are almost invariably mythic elements in my fiction (as well as bits of folk and faerie lore) and the term doesn’t lock me into writing only in an urban setting since many of my stories take place in rural areas. It never caught on, but when I don’t describe what I do as simply fiction, I’ll go with mythic fiction.

Yes, indeed. San Francisco was the perfect place for a walker between worlds like Jamie Hastings to grow up in. Her soul had chosen wisely before coming in, born to a visionary mother like Amanda, and situated in one of sunny California's most beautiful landscapes.

Yes. He was happy. He said, on that last visit, that some things were worth the wait. The world changes in unexpected ways, and all we can do is live in it and take joy in how it surprises us.

Yes, impossible. But do not dread, impossibility is just another measure of difficulty. The skills of dwargens and flillows sometimes match the impossible..." - Dwenzuak the dwargen

Yes, 1960’s North American sitcoms have led me to study the United States 1920’s and 1930’s crime bosses— QET Jenkins

Yes, I’m Daniel Tahi." I know what your lips taste like.I know you roll your eyes when you think someone is an idiot. I know that you wish you were six inches shorter because you hate being taller than most of the boys you've ever met. Your name is tattooed across my chest and written on my heart.You are a fire daughter of earth, fanua afi and I am vasa loloa,son of the ocean. I am yours...And you can’t even remember who I am.

Yes. Me. I'm an immortal made for war, and killing is what I do. What I'm good at. I do not live by the same rules as other people, those who do not have to fight to retain their liberties, those who let others do the fighting for them, then scoff at the results." - Knox

Yes!" Torin threw an arm over Reese's shoulder. "Smell that in the air? A grand adventure awaits.

Yes. The elven magi are very old, but not old enough to remember that all of this has happened before.” Parmida frowned. “Just how old are you?” “I am older than a thousand of your suns,” the unicorn answered. “. . . and that means?

You answer to none but the whim of your own black heart.

Yo no sé nada de Dios (...), pero sí sé algo de la tradición. Tú y yo somos gente literal. Sea cual sea la interpretación más obvia, ésa es nuestra verdad. Cuando las iglesias antiguas proclamaron sus leyes, sentaron un precedente. Ellos creen que la tierra consagrada rechaza nuestras almas y, puesto que su convicción es tan fuerte, nuestros cuerpos sienten dolor.

You are a blue rose, Letti. It’s almost impossible that you exist amongst the other roses but you do. You bring wonder to those who are lucky enough to find you. The blue rose is lonely, lost and awaits someone special to believe in them; the same feeling I got from you the day we met. Blue roses are incomprehensible and mysterious. And so are you.

You are alive in me.

You are everything you should be, and all that is enough. Be proud of who you are, and love who you will become.” – Lady Lalaigne to Nhakira, “Chosen

You are never to drive like that,” I told them. “Even if you are ever wealthy enough to own a Jaguar.

You are like a panther. You are strong, brave, resolute, graceful and stunningly beautiful, yet cat-like cautious and distrustful.

You are more than likely thinking by now that all of this sounds somewhat fanciful, perhaps over the top, all too complicated and even perhaps at times chaotic. It may seem so at first glance, but life here is a complex and intriguing happening, with never a dull moment to be had. And why should it not be so? “Death” as you have named it, is not the end of life. It is to us a birth back here once again to our side, to our true home. So it is a rebirth in a sense.

You are my reality, fantasy, daydream, fairytale, music, more than the princess in Cinderella; you are much more than a traditional myth.

You are never too old to have an active imagination.

You are not one of Pentrigrel’s creations. This is not where you belong. He will not keep his word to you. He is concerned only with himself. You cannot condemn yourself to this over Lunette’s fate.

You are one of us, one of those who knows without knowing, and one who will live and die in dreams that blend with this world. No, I am no gypsy, just one who has read a good many books. It is only through reading those great jewels of wisdom that one may see a story in a glint of sunlight, an epic unfold within one’s eyes. There are books all around us. Yet it takes reading a good many books by we mortals to be able to see them.

*You are not yet in the Emerald Dream. First, you must remove your earthly shell...* the voice in his head instructed. *As you reach the state of sleep, you will slip your body off as you would a coat. Start from your heart and mind, for they are the links that most bind you to the mortal plane. See? This is how it is done...* - Chapter 4

You are Zyon's daughter. You are a soul reader. This trip is more than just a vacation," Jadan said firmly. "You might feel like postponing it now, but we need to look for the medallion while we are in that region. Joe will keep an eye on everything. Plus, your mom will know what to do. I can even call for backup.

You are the sum total of what you have seen and learned, but underneath that is a core being, a usually untouchable being, that makes you who you truly are. It can make a person into a great peacemaker like Ghandi, or a serial killer like Ted Bundy, but it is immutable. That core holds both our deepest darkness and our greatest light. It’s the harmonies layered on top of that core melody that make us who we are from day to day.

You can have a lot of fun with rhinos

You can be a great man and still be a fool. Many of our country’s leaders can attest to that. Were they still living.

You. Can I trust you?” “You’ve threatened me, belittled me, mocked me and manhandled me.” .... “I’d say that since none of that has achieved the results you wanted, you could certainly afford to choose a different course.