Best 4015 quotes in «fantasy quotes» category

Our lives are composed of unexpected moments and unforgettable adventures.

Our pendants glowed in unison and I understood that they represented us – Siren and human intertwined for eternity.

Our place is here, our time is now!" Killian firmly declared.

Our sexual fantasies are often redundant and intense, like many other ideas involving ourselves. Most people approach sexuality limited to the idea that they should imitate other people, art (e.g., romantic literature) or movies (e.g., pornography). In this way, vicarious events and even fictions become a point of reference that we can actually feel. We judge actual people in our real lives against fictional events and unrealistic concepts. As such, real lovers seem inferior as a result.

Ours was not one of those nice, quaintly old-fashioned mobile homes that senior citizens putter around in. We lived in the beat-up tin can of clichéd poverty.

Out of misery, comes unexpected joy.

Our women – our wives – are the heart of Calberna. Without them, Calbernan males could not function. We would die. Just as you would die without the heart that beats in your chest.

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy? Pratchett: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question. O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre. P: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre. O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction. P: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus. Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy. Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that. (Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

padahal di weekend maupun libur panjang mereka kencing dimari,buang hajat dimari,buang sampah dimari. masih mau bilang sampah kiriman bogor?

Pam. Listen.' 'The phone is pressed to my ear. Speak.' 'Appius Livius Ocella just dropped in.' 'Fuck a zombie!' - Sookie & Pam, Dead in the Family, Charlaine Harris

Pain was fleeting. Death was forever.

Pappou did not look at Lexi. He scratched his nose and swung his komboloi in one hand so that the worry beads clacked against each other like tiny firecrackers, as if he hoped the clicking of them would snap the world back to its senses, knowing also that they couldn't.

Paranoia. The more you think of an imaginary problem, the more you feel as though it’s real –

Parmi les nombreuses maîtresses que vous avez troussées, avouez qu’il y en a une ou deux qui vous ont laissé des échardes dans le saignant. Il ne s’agit jamais de la plus belle, de la plus douce, de la plus prestigieuse, non, non… En général, ce serait plutôt une conquête de seconde catégorie, levée parce qu’elle était piquante, que vous avez prise pour l’aventure d’un soir. Et voici que la sournoise vous a ferré, en embuscade! (nouvelle "Le sentiment du fer")

Paranormal. It rolls off the tongue with such poetry but it means something like, beyond normal. There is nothing paranormal about magic. Magic is the norm. —Penny Sweeney Magic All Around

Part of the job of adults was to set limits. But the last rule, the unspoken rule of any story or journey, is that all limits are suspect. All warnings show only the point where the last story stopped, the boundary past which the map is unmapped. The Kingdom of Here There Be Dragons is the province of explorers, magicians, and kids.

Patience is all that I have had for fifteen years, more grey hairs, rotted teeth and the continuing decline of my Kingdom my only reward. Patience, Magnar, has overdue debts to be paid. (King Klonag)

[Patricia Highsmith] had experienced at first hand many of Ripley's characteristics - splintered identity, insecurity, inferiority, obsession with an object of adoration, and the violence that springs from repression. Like her young anti-hero, she knew that in order to survive, it was necessary to prop oneself up with a psychological fantasy of one's own making. 'Happiness, for me, is a matter of imagination,' she wrote in her notebook while writing The Talented Mr. Ripley. 'Existence is a matter of unconscious elimination of negative and pessimistic thinking. I mean, to survive at all. And this applies to everyone. We are all suicides under the skin, and under the surface of our lives.

Paul left to get the beers from the kitchen and Simon turned to face Beth. Slowly, he crept in closer to her side, completely unaware of his appearance, and in desperate need of comfort. She tensed, more so with every inch he got closer, but she couldn’t move away. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, she so wanted to be there for him; she wanted to love him and accept all of this willingly and unconditionally, but it was too hard.

Paul Robinson, I'm coming, it has taken me a while, but I have almost caught up with you. Keep running, if you cannot run walk, if you cannot walk crawl, if you cannot do this dream. Paul Robinson author.

Paunch? I've a curved spine. Anyway, It's relaxed muscle." He looked down. "All right, it's a paunch. A few more days of this and it will go.

PDR: Persons of Dubious Reality; refugees from the collective consciousness. Uninvited visitors who have fallen through the grating that divides the real, from the written. They arrive with their actions hardwired due to their repetitious existence and the older and more basic they are, the more rigidly they stick to them. Characters from cautionary tales are particularly mindless; they do what they do because it's what they've always done. And it's our job to stop them.

Pearl Dale, the fabled corsair of Atlas who escaped the royal fleet of Sherwood and intervened in the private affairs of the foreign people of Agra to save one Squid crew from being tortured to death... you too have a reputation that is worthy of songs. Let it not draw a line between you and I.” - Claudio Drago da Venezia, Mermaid Island #1

Peeta opens his mouth for the first bite without hesitation. He swallows, then frowns slightly. "They're very sweet." "Yes they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you've ever had them before?" I say, poking the next spoonful in his mouth. "No," he says, almost puzzled. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?" "Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild," I say. Another mouthful goes down. Just one more to go. "They're sweet as syrup," he says, taking the last spoonful. "Syrup." His eyes widen as he realizes the truth. I clamp my hand over his mouth and nose hard, forcing him to swallow instead of spit. He tries to make himself vomit the stuff up, but it's too late, he's already losing consciousness. Even as he fades away, I can see in his eyes what I've done is unforgiveable. I sit back on my heels and look at him with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away. "Who can't lie, Peeta?" I say, even though he can't hear me.

Peace, so Miss Sanders could grapple with her demons. Quiet, so she could almost hear the Hellfire crackling beneath the crust of the carpeted schoolroom.

pedulilah, jangan terbawa perasaan semua kata yang dilontarkan berjumlah tidak tetap!

People can always say I don't look impressive enough, but they can't argue over how strong I am once I punch them in the face.

People don't like us, my dear. The idea that someone who can play with their emotions, who can "mystically" get them to do certain things, makes them uncomfortable. What they do not realize - and what you must realize - is that manipulating is at the core of our social interaction. (...) Think about it. What is a man doing when he seeks the affection of a young lady? Why, he is trying to manipulate her to regard him favorably. What happens when two old friends sit down for a drink? They tell stories, trying to impress each other. Life as a human being is about posturing and influence. This isn't a bad thing, in fact, we depend upon it. These interactions teach us how to respond to others.

People don’t like to guess. It’s easier to know something by how it immediately appears. Dark, hard metal is known as it appears, and so dark, hard people are built from it. Marble is smooth and pale and bright like the faces chipped into it. But that’s something about life, what you think you know about a thing is always the first obstacle you face when trying to get to know it better. If they could speak, do you think they’d all be the same?

People make mistakes all the time – some of us just are in more of a position to leave an impact when we do.

People search in vain forever to find what we've got. I don't know shit about anything, Jenna, and I might be inexperienced, but I know you'll never love anyone like you love me.' 'I won't she,' she whispered. 'And yet you can leave me so easily for a baby you don't have and a husband you've never met. I'm here, I'm real, and I just lost to a goddamn fantasy. I must've never really had you at all.

People should know better than to be an ass in front of writers. We immortalize things. Lots of things. And we take liberties with character descriptions.

People that are lazy don't get anything accomplished. It's People like me that are reliable.

People were so often mean that when they weren’t, there was a tendency to bestow sainthood upon them. Aster did not reward common decency with her affection.

People won't change until the pain of not changing is greater than the pain changing brings.

People weren't just angry about it. They were still afraid. Fear is a powerful, often irrational emotion, and mass fear... has the power to shake any society to its core. As long as the world remembered, they would live in fear of all cryptids-- regardless of whether or not any individual among us was truly dangerous. Of course, not everyone supported stripping cryptids of all right. But dissenters were few among a dangerous and violent many, and most ignored the problem. Submission was the only solution they could conceive of to fix my problem. But with the imprint of Clyde's fist still throbbing in my stomach I was less interested in fixing a problem than in becoming one.

People with vision sees opportunity where there is problem. They see money not problem.

Perfection is death,' Anastasia said. 'The world is imperfect, but if it weren't, who would love it?

People would want to get safe and come to Christ because they see the evidence in your life not because you quote the scriptures to them.

People with imagination

Perceval said to the Grail Knight: “Will you break a spear with me this day?” He did not expect Galahad to look down on him from Lancelot’s immense height and say, gently, as if he knew it must disappoint, “Sir, I cannot.” “No? Well, there are others to fight,” said Perceval, trying not to show how vexed he felt to be denied the honour. “Not for any lack of love,” Galahad added. “But for the regard in which I hold you, Perceval of Wales.

Perhaps great fiction is in reality, deep hidden truths.

Perhaps the so-called civilized world was a great noisy burden beneath all its wonders, and it was a relief to let go of it for a while.

Perhaps it was without logic, for some would say I barely knew him, but I knew I loved him. And I trusted him—with my life, and with his. The time for doubt had passed.

Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need. First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door. Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying 'time heals all wounds' is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door. Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind. Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.

Personally, I thought it chancy to rely on only one god. It struck me as akin to placing all your drachars on one chariot at the races...It didn't seem logical that one god could ensure the proper working of the world.

Peut-être la civilisation était-elle destinée à crouler ? Rome comptait plus de mille années sur son calendrier et, dévorée par la sénilité, elle s’effondrait peu à peu sous son propre poids. Tenter de la sauver ne faisait, semblait-il, qu’ajouter au chaos. Tenter de la relever n’était qu’une farce bouffonne à laquelle seuls des fous comme lui se prêtaient encore sans se rendre compte de leur ridicule. Uther se vit comme un homme qui essayait de contenir le débordement d’un fleuve à mains nues. Mais si futile que puisse sembler sa tentative, elle valait mieux que l’inaction, que rester à l’écart en assistant au saccage. Cela, oui, demeurait au-dessus de ses forces.

Per questo, nel giorno della maniglia perduta, indugiavo con la faccia accostata alla finestra rotta, fantasticando su tutta quella gente dall’altro lato dei cumuli, chiedendomi se sarei mai riuscito a spingermi fino alla città laggiù, Forlichingham, a Londra, immaginando che ci fosse qualcuno dietro tutta quella gente, qualcuno che potesse apprezzarmi. «C’è qualcuno,» sussurrai, «c’è qualcuno lì? Chi sei? Come sei fatto?»

Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomèd mine— Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade

Please, do keep digging your own grave. I look forward to your splendidly inevitable demise.” – Dread Emperor Benevolent the First