Best 4015 quotes in «fantasy quotes» category

Meadly would prefer if we took a nice stroll through a field full of flowers. Meadly does not like to fight. Meadly likes peace and love.” The small dragon told her from its spot on the counter, its big blue eyes sparkling up at her innocently.

Me gustaría saner qué pasa realmente en un libro cuando está cerrado [...] algo debe pasar, porque cuando lo abro aparece de pronto una historia entera.

Melisande lay in bed in the loft of her cottage in Graebrok Forest north of Odr. Wide awake and blinking in the dark, she listened to the mice above her head. Nearly a moon past, her swordsman had repaired a crack in the eaves before returning to the towers and yards of Merhafr, the great port on the Njorth Sea, where he served as a King’s Ranger. His name was Othin, taken from a god of wisdom, trickery and war. What such a one knew of carpentry, well, that was open to question. But he knew other things. Nice things.

Me han dicho —a modo de crítica— que vivo en la luna. Les he dicho —a modo de crítica— que viven en la Tierra.

Me ha hablado de la "presión social", lo que por lo visto quiere decir dejar que los demás te dirijan la vida.

Memenangkan argumen bukan berarti seseorang telah meyakinkan lawannya

Mempunyai kesamaan dengan doiiii itu belum tentu jodoh. Jenis kelaminnya sama misal ...

Men are mere mortals but their quest for knowledge leads them to the brink of immortality.” Excerpt from novel You Can't Escape Love by Grace Willows

Memory is like a box of chocolates. They disappear quickly.

Men and women who had worn suits for decades traded punches powerful enough to crush elephant skulls, dodged and deflected attacks too fast for the eye to follow, and died suddenly, often before the crowd registered the killing blow. Victors and dead men were separated by a blink of the eye.

Mencintai bukan berarti kamu harus hancur kalau dia nggak ada, kan?

Men may act as cruelly as dragons, but dragons will never act as men do.

Men love those creatures that need to be taken care of. To be with a strong and wise woman is obliging. If you want to tame a lioness you need to become a lion, not a goat. A doe is easier to keep. You give her a little grass, a little milk, and she is tamed. Who do you think a man would choose?

menyampaikan kandungan surat al-ikhlas didpn umat muslim, bhwa tuhan mmng tdk beranak! allahu'ahad! dibilang menista agama?

Men who are certain of everything - well perhaps they are not men at all.

Mercy might be the mark of a great man, but then so’s a tombstone.” – Extract from the personal memoirs of Dread Emperor Terribilis II

Merlow smiled. “Usually our body likes what is good for us. I believe the body recognizes what it needs.

Mesmigli har samlat allt delariskt silver han har funnit i en enda kammare.” ”Det låter eldigt dumt, gör det inte?” ”Håll dina drakar nära men dina alver närmare. Det vill säga …” ”Varför har han inte bränt upp dem?” ”Vilka då? Drakarna eller alverna?” ”Vapnen! Vad talar du om?

„- Mi-ai spus odată că, indiferent ce se va întâmpla, chiar dacă vom rătăci drumul, mă vei găsi. Eu te-am găsit. Sper să mă găsești și tu pe mine.

Midnight ... Stare at screen. Vaguely aware right hand has hit keys to open new file. Start breathing very slowly. Write 1,943 words. Bed. For a day there, thought we weren't going to make it.

Milcas raced out his door, anxious to find the answer to this riddle and discover the source of hope for a Roegan in Fargranther; the propellant of an unheard of, forgotten, impossible, and by all accounts, damned idea.

-Mi abuelo siempre decía que el otoño es la estación idónea para arrancar de raíz cualquier cosa que no quieras que vuelva a molestarte. -Kote imitó la temblorosa voz de un anciano-. En los meses de primavera todo está demasiado lleno de vida. En verano, está demasiado fuerte y no hay manera de soltarlo. El otoño... -Miró alrededor; las hojas de los árboles estaban cambiando de color-. El otoño es el momento idóneo. En otoño todo está cansado y más dispuesto a morir.

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 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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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?

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 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.