Best 4015 quotes in «fantasy quotes» category

fluttering amidst the stars / stands the thin black/ stalk / of a glimmerglass girl /

Folks love fantasy. Beasts the shit outta reality and day of the week.

For 16 years, the names, stories and locations of Taiden's story lived only in my head. When my Beta Readers first read (TAIDEN'S) TRUTH and began to speak about these things aloud, it felt like having my mind read. Then I realised: that's exactly what it was.

For a lie to add piquancy to a story the story would be factual. Fantasy needs no lie to stimulate or excite. But if the factual story is contrived or fallacious then it’s the fantasy that is the lie.

For an instant, at least, they seemed one and the same, as though all anguish exists in the same deep well, no matter what loss or misfortune leads us to it. We might be at odds, hate each other, and desired each others destruction, but in our despair, we are lost in the same darkness, breathing the same air as we choke on our grief.

For a writer, there is a genuine difference between fantasy and science fiction.... [...] In fantasy you get to make it all up, even the rules of how things work, and then follow your rules absolutely. In science fiction you get to make it up, but you have to follow most of the rules of science, or at least not ignore them.

Forbidden fruit makes a wonderful wine." Vazco gave him a leading look. "But leaves a hell of a headache.

Forever is a really long time.

For everything about him fitting her fantasy image of what she wanted, she still didn’t feel seen by him…and that made her all the more aware that maybe her fantasy wasn’t what she wanted at all.

Foreign princes rarely ask to see Initiates by name. And by ‘rarely’ I mean ‘never.

For discipline is the channel in which our acts run strong and deep; where there is no direction, the deeds of men run shallow and wander and are wasted.

For fantasy is true, of course. It isn’t factual, but it’s true. Children know that. Adults know it too and that’s precisely why many of them are afraid of fantasy. They know that its truth challenges, even threatens, all that is false, all that is phony, unnecessary, and trivial in the life they have let themselves be forced into living. They are afraid of dragons because they are afraid of freedom.

Forget vampires,” he laughed dismissively. “Who wants to drink blood for eternity? What we have discovered is far more seductive and a great deal more dangerous…

Forgive me again.” He lifts the carafe and refreshes his goblet. “What happened to those two children who laughed at dandelion fuzz?” he says softly. “Are they gone forever, do you think?

Forgetting Arch, forgetting tailors and backstreets and cats, Quincy lost herself in the magnificent architecture built to house even more magnificent machines. The train Quincy loved: its perfection of movement and speed and sound; its possibility and potential; its ability to efficiently transport the masses. It was here that Quincy always found the gears of her own mind worked loose, set back in place.

Forgive us our fantasies. It’s all we have.

For Honor and the Octagon!

Första steget är förnekelse. Du tycker om mig, erkänn.

For the mind of man alone is free to explore the lofty vastness of the cosmic infinite, to transcend ordinary consciousness, to roam the secret corridors of the brain where past and future melt into one... And universe and individual are linked, the one mirrored in the other, and each contains the other.

For what is magic, but passion freed from reason?

Fostering magical thinking, the chivalric romance yields a space-time in which the marvelous co-exists at all times with mundane routines. Its magic is able to envision the invisible, to endow the amorphous with palpable shape, and to place illusion and reality on the same level. Concurrently, the romance reminds us that it is essential to value the magical realm’s irreducible alterity and inscrutability, rather than attempt to tame it by rationalizing its wonders.

Four years ago the clocks started turning back. I open my eyes and see nothing. I feel nothing below or above me. I feel the absence of things. The absence of my flesh, my bones, my body, my mind. All that is left is awareness. I see nothing but the absence of colour. It’s not a black darkness. It’s simply nothing. The interior of a black hole. I recall news of a black hole lingering along the edges of our solar system. All that time ago. Four years ago. When the clocks started turning back. I hear nothing. Until there is a something. A small thing. A voice. I listen. There are more voices. The sounds are human. How long has it been since I’ve heard a human? The sounds scratch along my now present attention. They carve into my hearing. They are horrid, wretched things. Voices screaming. Growing loud and desperate. How many voices? Billions. This is the birth of our species. We are born screaming. It’s all we know to do. We have screamed for eternity. Within this empty space.

Fred Ruskin barreled through the rain down Buchanan Street in his battered Pacer, the jar his dead wife had directed him to retrieve from his nephew’s coffin bouncing in the seat beside him.

Fråga aldrig en drake om hennes ålder.

Fra tutti i dolori che ho conosciuto non ce n’è mai stato nessuno grande come la sofferenza di sapere che esso sarà senza di me, e tuttavia ti ho amata e non cambierei un solo giorno. E se per qualche miracolo mi fosse concesso di tornare al passato e di corteggiarti di nuovo, lo rifarei anche avendo la certezza che tutto finirà ancora nello stesso modo.

Freud wrote that love involves the undervaluation of reality and the overvaluation of the desired object. While the correct valuation of a person is an odd, if not impossible idea, we might say Freud meant something like this: for various reasons, many of them masochistic, we become involved with others who cannot possibly give what we ask for; we can wait as long as we wish, but they do not have it, and one day, if we bear to abandon our fantasy and see clearly, we might face reality straight on. We will then look elsewhere for fulfillment, to a place where our needs can, in fact, be satisfied.

Freydolf worried that the stone might have been [stolen], but he finally found it safe and sound in one of the many drawers that were better for losing things than organizing them.

Friendship is just love that has yet to sprout wings and take flight.

From dawn to dusk I spent my time in the real world. Only in my dreams at night could I indulge my fantasies.

From DW: I got it. “Here's the thing,” I said. "I'm not going to be the government's bitch.

From now until eternity meets its end, you will walk by faith and not by sight.

From the beginning, I did not intend to create a typical classic fantasy. I wanted an organic, harmonious world where my story could evolve. If this world needed gnomes, I put them in there. As for drevalyankas, pikshas, bolugs and other totally original creatures, they appeared there somehow by themselves in the course of events, and then just began "to get under the feet of the main heroes"...

From the dark forest that bordered the soft ploughed fields, came a low cry that did not belong to any animal. It was accompanied by the sound of branches bending and snapping, and the splintering of wood as trees were crushed or toppled onto their sides.

From the instant of our first meeting I judged him so, though it could be said that I was prejudiced. When one is standing naked on a slave-auction block in a wind cold enough to freeze a demon's backside, one is unlikely to have a fair impression of anyone.

From the moment any of us utter our first goo-goo's and ga-ga's, we are as good as gone. At that precise instant, any possibility that It will ever arise in us is irrevocably crushed. If any proof is needed, consider how immune to strong emotion our society has grown. At your next visit to the local funeral parlor, glance at the mourners, who can more properly be defined as spectators. Notice how they smell, how well-dressed and dignified they are. This is because viewing the dead has become overwhelmingly acceptable as a social function. Yes, even the corpse is part of the festivities, lying there as the guest of honor, laid out in his best clothes, pumped full of chemicals and smeared with make-up as the patrons file by and nurse their long buried consciences with silk handkerchiefs.

(From the Author Note at the beginning of the book.) Dorothy L. Sayers used to say that mystery stories were the only moral fiction of the modern world--because in a mystery, you were guaranteed to see that the bad got punished, the good got rewarded and in the end all was made right. I'd like to think that fantasy does the same thing. It reminds us that this is how it should be, and maybe if we all put our minds to it a little more, this is how it will be. The good will be rewarded. The bad will be punished. Sins will be forgiven. And they will live happily ever after.

From Bralloc’s mounted position he could see over the heads of most of his men, but the thickening darkness of evening coupled with the storm made it impossible to see more than a few yards. He jerked at the reins and swung his horse around, pushing into the crowd. The large grey charger was nearly as mean-spirited as her owner; she snorted and bucked her head, then nipped, stomped and shoved her way through, giving every indication that she was enjoying herself. His men drew to either side, and the crawling excitement in Bralloc’s belly became an angry swarm of insects. The scout – the ballsy woman whose name he could never remember - stood several paces away. Bralloc paid her no heed, however, and the mixture of nervousness, relief and fear on her face didn’t even register in his mind: his eyes were locked on the captive at her side. His lips twitched into a smile and he licked them, like a ghoul eyeing a fresh corpse. He forced himself to move slowly, deliberately – sucking each individual drop of marrow from the bones of his anticipation..." -From 'Feral

(From Danielle Raver's short story THE ENCHANTRESS) Thick chains attached to the wall hold a metal collar and belt, restraining most of the tiger's movements. Open, bloody slashes cover his face and back, but he shows no loss of strength as he pulls on the chains and tries to rip the flesh of the surrounding humans with his deadly claws. Out of his reach, I kneel down before him, and his lightning-blue eyes cross my space for a moment. “Get her out of there!” I hear from behind me. “Numnerai,” I speak urgently to the tiger. “They will kill you!” He growls and gnashes his teeth, but I sense he is responding to me. “Great white tiger, your duty is to protect the prince. But how can you do that if they sink the end of a spear into your heart?” He looks at me for a longer moment. The fighters respond to this by growing still. In their desperation, they are overlooking my foolishness for a chance to save their fellows' lives. I crouch on my feet and begin to nudge closer to him. The tiger growls a warning, but does not slash out at me. “Think of the prince, protector of the palace. Right now he prays for you to live.

From the mouths of babes. XXXXXXX But are you her Guardian? We've been waiting for him to find her.

Frown deepening, Jared bounces a hand off the chair arm. 'You know you're different, Princess. And it's not just because you're some fancy, spoiled rich girl. Hell, you don't smell like anyone else. Money can't buy that smell.' I assume he wasn't talking about my expensive perfume, which money did in fact buy.

Fucking white people." "Really?" "Have you met any? They're a mess. They only believe, like, in three seasonings.

Gabby,” Jenna cried. “It’s so horrible. I can’t believe this happened.” “Jenna,” I said in a soothing voice, “I’m alive and okay. No worries.” She sniffled into the phone. “No, it’s not that.” I waited a beat. “What?” “The bridesmaid dresses are all wrong!” she wailed. “Wait a second,” I said. “You aren’t upset over my being dead for four days?” “I knew you’d be fine,” she explained, brushing off the subject. “But these dresses? I don’t know what to do. They’re the wrong color, and they’re hideous!” She went into a hysterical fit of tears.

Funny how being a grown-up didn’t make you any less glad to have a mom on the scene. Whether it was your own or someone else’s mother, it was like having the cavalry arrive.

Funny, isn’t it? No matter what language they speak, everyone sounds the same when you pull out their fingernails.” – Dread Emperor Foul III, “the Linguist

Gå”, andas jag. ”Innan jag spetsar dig på mitt svärd.

Gavin! What’ll I wear home?” “Cloak.” His voice roughened and he ripped harder, tossing the material to the ground. I felt his smile when he kissed my neck, and shivers ran down my back at the sound of his low growl. “I made that! I don’t have many of those, you know.” “Cam,” he snaked one hand around my stomach and made his way north, slipping one hand into my corset top to grope my chest. “You won’t be thinking about it when I’m inside you.” His hips shifted off my back and he separated my legs with his knee, his breathing ragged against my shoulder. “Now forget the damn dress.

Garion,' she said very calmly, 'the universe knew your name before that moon up there was spun out of the emptiness. Whole constellations have been waiting for you since the beginning of time.' I didn't want them to, Aunt Pol.' There are those of us who aren't given that option, Garion. There are things that gave to be done and certain people who have to do them. It's as simple as that.' He smiled rather sadly at her flawless face and gently touched the snowy white lock at her brow. Then, for the last time in his life, he asked the question that had been on his lips since he was a tiny boy. 'Why me, Aunt Pol? Why me?' Can you possibly think of anyone else you'd trust to deal with these matters, Garion?' He had not really been prepared for that question. It came at him in stark simplicity. Now at last he fully understood. 'No,' he sighed, 'I suppose not. Somehow it seems a little unfair, though. I wasn't even consulted.' Neither was I, Garion,' she answered. 'But we didn't have to be consulted, did we? The knowledge of what we have to do is born into us.

gausah ngaku cakep kalo udah punya pacar!

Gazing upon the strange Worlds that hung suspended above them, they marveled together at this strange heavenly Realm, which extended well beyond the small Realm of Aromu, and which was clearly far larger and more wondrous than they could even imagine…

Gardens are made of darkness and light entwined.