Best 4015 quotes in «fantasy quotes» category

It was a great weight, the power of knowledge

It was another dark and windy night. Like so many others.

It was a Guild of Assassins, after all. Black was what you wore. The night was black and so were you. And black had such style, and an Assassin without style, everyone agreed, was just a highly paid arrogant thug.

It was as if I had been following a narrow trail, and had suddenly realized that at any time I could leave it and strike out cross-country.

It was a glistening citadel of limestone, hard and smooth with creamy whites and speckled grays. This was, no doubt, the place mighty kings called home, and with awe, it stole Fawn’s breath away.

It was a musty sweet smell. "Is this plague city?

It was as if he had two faces, one of utmost calm, one of furious action; and he wore both with ease. He was like the animal whose face he wore, able to sit in silence for hours, without moving a muscle, then flying like a raging storm into battle, returning again to perfect calm when the fight was over.

It was all I could do to keep from lunging across the table and pressing my shuttering lips against his burning flesh. My palms were sweating profusely causing me to have to wipe them against my jeans under the table. Those last few seconds had felt like a lifetime in pause.

It was as if this night were only one of thousands of nights, world without end, night curving into into night to make a great arching line of which I couldn't see the end, a night in which I roamed alone under cold, mindless stars.

It was a sign of how worried and confused I was that I wasn’t completely distracted by the sight of his powerful thighs flexed in front of me.

It was easy to imagine he’d just rolled out of bed and then it was easy to imagine him in bed and I wasn’t going there.

It was hard to describe what she had sensed, but it had been distinct and clear, like the shape of a leafless tree against the sky, or a crow flying across a ploughed field. She hesitated to close her eyes again, for it had risen up close to her face like something appalling.

It was like listening to the universe in motion. Planets spinning on their appointed courses, the lives of men intersecting and parting, the unimaginable harmony of the human body itself in hierarchy and order, were all implied in the song, but something greater as well: the genius of the composer, which must surely approach the miraculous. Perceval closed his eyes and was lost in the weaving music.

It was hard to choose between good and best.

It was me–a dangerous cocktail of pissed off and hurt.”–Ember (Darkness Of Light)

It was hope that brought me love.

It was meant to be, two trolls living in a tree.

It was more than the war that changed me - Corin

It was never just about the money.

It was night again. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts. The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music...but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained. Inside the Waystone a pair of men huddled at one corner of the bar. They drank with quiet determination, avoiding serious discussions of troubling news. In doing this they added a small, sullen silence to the larger, hollow one. It made an alloy of sorts, a counterpoint. The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened for an hour, you might begin to feel it in the wooden floor underfoot and in the rough, splintering barrels behind the bar. It was in the weight of the black stone hearth that held the heat of a long dead fire. It was in the slow back and forth of a white linen cloth rubbing along the grain of the bar. And it was in the hands of the man who stood there, polishing a stretch of mahogany that already gleamed in the lamplight. The man had true-red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he moved with the subtle certainty that comes from knowing many things. The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.

It was not accustomed to being summoned.

It wasn't premeditated. It was what needed to be done. So I did it.

It wasn't that I wanted to know her now. I wanted to have already known her. I wanted her fears and her desires to have shaped my life. I know this is not love, of course. What it is is a queer feeling of nostalgia for an impossible future, for what can never be. That's fantasy. Love is different.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I was supposed to free him. I was supposed to save him. I was supposed to save everyone.

It was one of those decisions that shouldn't have been so easy to get so wrong. Go on your own or take the half wasted waif. She was wearing denim hotpants with a pink vest top, and was hanging off his arm, more for stability than closeness, so he propped her up against the wall next to the counter and reached inside his coat pocket for his badge. It was definitely his badge, he clearly remembered stealing it two years before whilst in California.

It was sometimes said that the grey-and-black mountain range which ran like a spine north to south down that part of Faerie had once been a giant, who grew so huge and so heavy that, one day, worn out from the sheer effort of moving and living, he had stretched out on the plain and fallen into a sleep so profound that centuries passed between heartbeats.

It was the ideal place where people call ‘home.

It was then that the seven-year-old said, “I am ready. What wonderful place will we visit tonight?” “I can take you wherever your dreams desire,” the calico pony replied on their first night together.

It was the wanderers Maaya pitied. They were the ones who had been dead for so long that they had lost almost all their humanity. Death had ever so slowly driven them mad, trapping them in the in-between they could exist in but not interact with, the place where they could see and hear all that couldn’t see or hear them. Many spoke in languages long dead, if they remembered how to speak at all. In a world full of people, they were utterly alone, and over the centuries and millennia, they became numb to it all.

It was too lonely to be heaven, and there wouldn't be stars in hell.

It will begin with the six who now tread the streets of a city where the stone pinnacle erects like a reed amongst long grass. Where a bridge expands across a gorge, drifts a cloud buzzing with a million stings. There, these six shall bleed. There, these six shall die, and like a plague shall spread the wings that carry the cloud till they consume the city, and with it, the strength that fuels all of your lives. Farewell, children of the new world, and may your deaths be swift.

It wouldn't do to go mixing up the present and the past, and cutting bits out of one to fit into the other.

It would be so much easier if I could just be a student instead of always a pawn in a bigger game – and I had no illusions. I was no center of the storm. I was no rook or bishop. I was a pawn and nothing more.

I've been deflecting Calypso's blushes all day. I don't have the energy to deflect yours," he said through clenched teeth. "So either block or strip." -- The Twelfth House ~ The Elementals Book I

I've been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?" I would, actually, but I don't want to relent too soon. I do walk over and look at them. I've never seen this type before. No, I have. But not in the arena. These aren't Rue's berries, although they resemble them. Nor do they match any I learned about in training. I lean down and scoop up a few, rolling them between my fingers. My father's voice comes back to me. "Not these, Katniss. Never these. They're nightlock. You'll be dead before they reach your stomach." Just then the cannon fires. I whip around, expecting Peeta to collapseto the ground, but he only raises his eyebrows. The hoovercraft appears a hundred metres or so away.What's left of Foxface's emaciated body is lifted into the air.

I've done this sort of thing before. Not prophecies so much, but you'd be surprised how many people want to realign their ancestral lines to seem nobler, or rewrite their family history to remove more morally questionable episodes." He paused to recall a recent rewrite. "One lord wanted the murderers removed from his family line. His family was so corrupt, he ended up with three virgin births, two generations removed entirely and a lady who gave birth at the age of two. Still, no one questions it as there is evidence in the archives." Bubo smugly tapped a book. "There is one thing though, faking a prophecy in the past is easy, you already know the result. How will you make this come true in the future?" "I have someone in mind for it, but I'm not sure he'll go for it. But then prophecy is all optional anyway." Corvid looked up as if a thought had occurred to him. "I'd best go check on my man, I've not met him yet.

I’ve found that the best way to win at shatranj is usually to turn into a giant snake and tear my opponent’s throat out.” – Dread Empress Vindictive III

I’ve learned that being alone and being lonely are not the same thing. Once I was surrounded by people and lonely for it, but now I’m alone and I’ve never been so content.

I've never been this dirty. I've never been this sweaty and disgusting. I've never been this afraid, this thirsty, this alone". "I haven't been a good leader, but--people are counting on me to take them to safety. I don't know if I'm twelve or twenty or if I'm twenty and I don't think age matters anymore------- There is a way out. I will find a way out.

I've stolen books. They're the only thing worth taking that don't belong to you.

I've no plans to couple with anyone other than my new bride for the next century or so, and it feels as though it's takin' a century to get to it!

I've learned that the flesh that clothes us means very little." Prince Ashton

I’ve told you that I’m a tricksy wight, and I am, my sweet. But there are those in the Seelie Court who would make me seem a very perfect knight.

I wait in fear, as the shadows draw near, spreading over the sky, will I live or die?

I've spent my life wondering when I would earn the right to be a man again. Despite the undeserved good fortune of finding my true love, I always held a kernel of bitterness in my heart that things were not different... I will never be the man that I was. That man is dead—slain—for better or for worse, by my life as the Beast. In your words, the world does not need who I was.

I wanted her to notice me, to pay attention to me. It was an irrational desire, one I‘d never experienced before.

I walked forward simply because there was no going back.

I want Dmitrii's admiration. I want a victory. I even want power, over princes and chyerti. I am allowed to want things, winter-king.

I wanted their stories to be a reminder that, no matter what insignia the behemoths may wear, or what philosophy they may spout, a bully is a bully, and no matter how much they beat you down, as long as you've got one finger left, you can still poke the bastards in the eye. -Blackhearts: Author's Introduction: A Finger In The Eye: By Nathan Long

I walk around engrossed in my stories and worlds, and I love losing myself in them!