Best 4015 quotes in «fantasy quotes» category

I grabbed back at him just as incautiously with my hand and my magic both, even as he pressed magic on me from his side as well. His breath huffed out sharply, and our workings caught on one another, magic gushing into them.

I guess it really had been brave . . . because it was so bugger-all stupid, and if there was one thing I'd come to realize, ti was that bravery and bugger-all stupidity went hand in hand.

I grew up a dreamer, lonely, one foot on the earth, the other on the moon.

I guess you have to born in the Pit to find light where there isn’t any.

I guess, my advice would be the following: stay calm and do not let the panic seize you.

I had become an arrow of sound aimed at the most terrible creature in the city.

I had broken another of her endless rules – never backchat the librarian.

I had evolved a year too soon, and it nearly broke me

I had never seen the view at this time before, at the very pinnacle of night when sunset was far behind us and dawn had not yet risen rosy-fingered from the horizon. The night was ashen, tones of granite and iron and heather in the ripples of the waves, which were calmer than earlier in the day. It was as if even the ocean was drowsy – a pale, weighty moon hung full and pregnant in the sky, its reflection floating lambent on the water.

I had started on the marriage and motherhood beat by accident with a post on my personal, read only by friends, blog called ‘Fifty Shades of Men’. I had written it after buying Fifty Shades of Grey to spice up what Dave and I half-jokingly called our grown up time, and had written a meditation on how the sex wasn’t the sexiest part of the book. “Dear publishers, I will tell you why every woman with a ring on her finger and a car seat in her SUV is devouring this book like the candy she won’t let herself eat.” I had written. “It’s not the fantasy of an impossibly handsome guy who can give you an orgasm just by stroking your nipples. It is instead the fantasy of a guy who can give you everything. Hapless, clueless, barely able to remain upright without assistance, Ana Steele is that unlikeliest of creatures, a college student who doesn’t have an email address, a computer, or a clue. Turns out she doesn’t need any of those things. Here is the dominant Christian Grey and he’ll give her that computer plus an iPad, a beamer, a job, and an identity, sexual and otherwise. No more worrying about what to wear. Christian buys her clothes. No more stress about how to be in the bedroom. Christian makes those decisions. For women who do too much—which includes, dear publishers, pretty much all the women who have enough disposable income to buy your books—this is the ultimate fantasy: not a man who will make you come, but a man who will make agency unnecessary, a man who will choose your adventure for you.

I had this guy’s file pulled this morning, along with the rest of your neighbors. His name is Desperado.” Pause. A few seconds passed. He was waiting for my reaction. “Did you say Desperado?” I couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that bubbled to the surface. “Yeah,” the Director confirmed. “He changed his name when he turned eighteen. It was Melvin.” I was still laughing. “’Cause Desperado is so much better than Melvin.

I had to find Mr. Brentwood. And I had to save him. Zeus, Inc. had saved the world 50 years ago when we had depleted our energy resources. The very same Zeus, Inc. that now powered a majority of the known world. And that power had come from the man himself. Without him? We would all be plunged into total darkness, knocked back to the literal dark ages. Chaos could and probably would ensue.

I had the view of a castle of romance inhabited by a rosy spirit, such a place as would somehow, for diversion of the young idea, take all colour out of story-books and fairy-tales. Was n't it just a story-book over which I had fallen a-doze and a-dream?

I handed him a beaker and toyed with the pleats of my skirt. The folds kept rippling against my knees in a distracting way. It was one of Naomi's additions to my wardrobe. I quickly decided that I hated it.

I hate goblins.

I have also fantasised myself to be his female slave, but this does not suffice, for after all every woman can be the slave of her husband.

I have been, I think, altogether disparaging about the ‘escapist’ elements of the genre, emphasizing its powers to address social, moral and even philosophical issues at the expense of celebrating its dreamier virtues. I took this position out of a genuine desire to defend a fictional form I love from accusations of triviality and triteness, but my zeal led me astray. Yes, fantastic fiction can be intricately woven into the texture of our daily lives, addressing important issues in fabulist form. But it also serves to release us for a time from the definitions that confine our daily selves; to unplug us from a world that wounds and disappoints us, allowing us to venture into places of magic and transformation.

I have dreamed of that song, of the strange words to that simple rhyme-song, and on several occasions I have understood what she was saying, in my dreams. In those dreams I spoke that language too, the first language, and I had dominion over the nature of all that was real. In my dream, it was the tongue of what is, and anything spoken in it becomes real, because nothing said in that language can be a lie. It is the most basic building brick og everything. In my dreams I have used that language to heal the sick and to fly; once I dreamed I kept a perfect little bed-and-breakfast by the seaside, and to everyone who came to stay with me I would say, in that tongue, 'Be whole.' and they would become whole, not be broken people , not any longer, because I had spoken the language of shaping.

I have fled from the wilderness fasting, with woe and unflagging travail, I have sought for the light on the mountain, and skirted the devilish dale. I have laid my mouth in the dust, and begged the Might to be kind, I have come to the feast, and I famish. Now grant me the Holy Grail.

I have grown to realize that there are very few impossibilities in our world.

I have knowledge; I'm responsible. If I sit by and do nothing while I have the ability to change, to help, then I'm just as much a criminal as any. Power begets responsibility...You should know that.

I have found the more fantastic the setting, the more truthful the confessions.

I have had as many names as there are years to time itself! roared the monster. I am Herne the Hunter! I am Cernunnos! I am the eternal Green Man!

Have I ever told you how glad I am we're not enemies? Eragon asked. No, but it's very sweet of you.

I have never learned to hate. Don't let my first lesson come from you.

I have no use for your body, for within its youth lies a rotten wench already deceased.

I have no way to describe this, and I am positive that this is all just a horrible dream I have yet to wake up from. The vice principle is insane. My own uncle is insane. Those stupid kids are insane. Mother Nature is insane...

I have shared physical relations with other women, but, I have only made love to one woman, Lainna. For ‘tis truth you are the only woman I have made love to. Now that I know what it is to be with a woman I love more than life, I would not trade that for beddin’ a hundred women a day. I am your man, Alainn. Only yours!” “You have not loved me twelve times in one day?” she pouted prettily. “Is that a challenge?” He smiled as he walked toward her and dared to bend over to kiss her. “Aye, perhaps it is at that!

I have spider blood on me.” “That’s the girliest thing I’ve ever heard you say.

I have the mind of Christ. The best life you could ever live is the one that your creator destined you for. The one He made you for. He has given us everything we need ......... to become like Him. To reach to your potentials. Worship Him in spirit and in truth.

I have two rules I follow religiously: #1. Don't sweat the small stuff. #2. It's all small stuff.

I have yet to face Writer's Block and I don't believe I ever will. It is much more difficult for me to shut my imagination down to get a good nights sleep than it is to prod it to life.

I heard ‘naked’ and ‘full of hot air.’ I try not to let that be my first impression of anyone.

Ihr verbohrten Narren! Ihr glaubt zu wissen, was Namensmagie ist? Was einen Namen ausmacht? Schall, Rauch und Knalleffekte? Je größer der Name, desto blitzt und knallt es? Ihr irrt euch!

I hope so,” grumbled Ian. “I’m going to look for another one of ‘em winged dogs for Mabel.

I… I can’t. I wish I were a little bolder.” “What for?” the Hatter asked. “Being a small rock wouldn’t be much fun.

I intend to make you scream for me, Riley.

I just think the world ought to be more sort of organized.' 'That's just fantasy,' said Twoflower. 'I know. That's the trouble.' Rincewind sighed again.

I just want to matter,' he said unsmiling. It was like pulling a curtain back, peering behind a mask made of smiles and quips. This was the real James, this young, bright, desperate thing. There was a burning intensity to his eyes, and she saw for the first time a boy who would sell his heart--not for some hobby, but because he thought it was the only way to life the life he wanted. They had that in common.

I just think when extraordinary people are discovered, extraordinary exceptions should be made. " ~ Sarajane From Eden Forest (Part one of the Saskia Trilogy)

I keep dying and hoping you notice me. But you’re too busy living.

I know a charm that can cure pain and sickness, and lift the grief from the heart of the grieving. I know a charm that will heal with a touch. I know a charm that will turn aside the weapons of an enemy. I know another charm to free myself from all bonds and locks. A fifth charm: I can catch an arrow in flight and take no harm from it. A sixth: spells sent to hurt me will hurt only the sender. A seventh charm I know: I can quench a fire simply by looking at it. An eighth: if any man hates me, I can win his friendship. A ninth: I can sing the wind to sleep and calm a storm for long enough to bring a ship to shore. For a tenth charm, I learned to dispel witches, to spin them around in the skies so that they will never find their way back to their own doors again. An eleventh: if I sing it when a battle rages it can take warriors through the tumult unscathed and unhurt, and bring them safely back to their hearths and their homes. A twelfth charm I know: if I see a hanged man I can bring him down from the gallows to whisper to us all he remembers. A thirteenth: if I sprinkle water on a child’s head, that child will not fall in battle. A fourteenth: I know the names of all the gods. Every damned one of them. A fifteenth: I had a dream of power, of glory, and of wisdom, and I can make people believe in my dreams. A sixteenth charm I know: if I need love I can turn the mind and heart of any woman. A seventeenth, that no woman I want will ever want another. And I know an eighteenth charm, and that charm is the greatest of all, and that charm I can tell to no man, for a secret that no one know but you is the most powerful secret there can ever be.

I knew that it was impossible for us to be kept apart for too long.

I know all the tells a woman makes when she wants me. The furtive glance. The parted mouth. The rapid heartbeat. The light sheen of sweat on her skin…

I know Caraval can be magical and romantic and wonderful, but the spells it casts aren’t easily shaken off, and half the time I don’t even think people realise they have been bewitched.

I know exactly who you are.” I took a step forward, and another, until I was standing right in front of him. Then my words turned to ice. “You are the selfish, spineless son of a king who is too afraid to be his own man. You would rather hide behind your status than fight for something that could actually mean something.” There, that felt good. “And it’s a shame, really it is, because, according to you, I was the one true friend you had.

I know have lived, so many times, that the only thing I have left to remember is my writing, cause every single moment in life it's already written.

I know. I know we don't have a lot of time, but I'm she's got, and I've been hiking through the wilderness and fighting fucking monsters and shadow-wielding assholes, and I've only got more of that to look forward to, so I'd like to take a couple of hours to hug my mother!

I know that I am going to meet a personal variation on reality; a partial view of reality. But I know also that by that partiality, that distancing from the shared experience, it will be new: a revelation. It will be a vision, a more or less powerful or haunting dream. A space-voyage through somebody else's psychic abysses. It will fall short of tragedy, because tragedy is the truth, and truth is what the very great artists, the absolute novelists, tell. It will not be truth; but it will be imagination. Truth is best. For it encompasses tragedy and partakes of the eternal joy. But very few of us know it; the best we can do is recognize it. Imagination - to me - is the next best. For it partakes of Creation, which is one aspect of the eternal joy. All the rest is either Politics or Pedantry, or Mainstream Fiction, may it rest in peace.

I know perfectly well he's a god, too. But what I think is he'll be much godlier after he's dead.