Best 4015 quotes in «fantasy quotes» category

That's crazy. Are Witches the one who help the big fat man get down the chimney too?" "You know it, girl.

That's it? That's all that happens after you topple from grace? We lose our rubies and rations?" Marshall smirked. "Woe is me.

That’s how we humans are: put something off once, and we’ll think of a thousand reasons why we shouldn’t do it at all.

That's half of your trouble," muttered the crocodile. "You believe everything's true." "That's because everything is," replied Mr. Bacchus.

That’s not Eire. Everyone always thinks that, but we’re not shamrocks and wee men. You should know the difference.

That somehow, this insufferable girl would become the one person I am forever, hopelessly, madly drawn to against my will and possibly even my better judgment.

That’s right. A halfblood. A halfblood with the skills and the talent to fight alongside the best. They’d all seen her. Who were the Hunters to turn her down after that? They wouldn’t dare.

That’s the beauty of magic. You can get it no matter how rich or poor you are.

That’s the funny thing about love,” he said. “It doesn’t wait for perfection – the heart loves who it loves, exactly as they are, faults and all.

That’s the problem! She doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me like she’s hypnotized, like she thinks I’m a god, but then she runs off squeaking if I try to talk to her.” “I don’t squeak,” I protested. “Maybe she’s not looking at you like you’re a god. Maybe she thinks you’re more of a freak,” Fergus mused. “I’m not a freak.” Murphy jerked his head as if dodging a fly or tossing his hair. “It’s definitely a ‘you’re a god’ look. She practically drools.

That's what friends, that's what brethren are for. To be there, where words cannot.

That’s when I notice Cheryl and Mickey cuddled up on the couch. She’s leaning on his shoulder, his arm around her, her leg across his lap. Cheryl throws glances at Kerry that say, “Look at me!” while Kerry shoots a “You go, girl!” smirk right back. I think of CK, how he and I often sat like that. Not because we were seconds from making out or wanted to look like a couple, but just out of a deep, platonic connection. My heart hits a higher notch on the ache-o-meter, my teeth sear into my bottom lip, and then something inside me snaps as cleanly as a crayon.

That talent lives in within me. Now though, it goes as easily as a sword being put back in a scabbard. It’s done what it was needed for. It’s done the most important thing it will ever be needed for.", FADE by Kailin Gow

That was a day that taught me the meaning of abject failure.

That was another thing about boys: No one assumed the blew a gasket for any reason other than they were just really upset. They were allowed to just be, and nobody blamed where the moon was in its cycle, or whether or not they had the ill fortune of leaking from their privates. It was plain unfair.

That which does not kill you ... probably isn't close enough, so just start running.

That was one tiny trailer when both girls wanted to watch TV or use the computer or the bathroom at the same time.

That you are a born again Christian does not mean you will automatically succeed except you follow God's principles. Never forget faith without good work is dead.

The ABC's success by Bob Proctor is one powerful book, such books are rare. Even sometimes it's hard to find a book which is based on somebody's experience... fantasy?? For god sake, one drop truth which is about from 10% up to 20% and the other from 80% up to 90% it's a lie.

The aim here is not to separate fact from fantasy but to show how each embodies a distinct class of knowledge and how one is deeply implicated in the other.

The air outside was sharp and the wind fickle, clouds moving across the sky in patters that resembled spilled milk on a kitchen table. That was, if the milk had been left out on the table for three weeks and turned grey.

The Ancestral Trail was split into two-halves of 26 issues each. The first half takes place in the Ancestral World and describes Richard's struggle to restore good to the world. After the initial international run, which sold over 30 million copies worldwide, Marshall Cavendish omitted the second part of the trilogy and used the third part (future) for the second series that followed. This part of the series, written up by Ian Probert and published in 1994, takes place in the Cyber Dimension. It deals with Richard's attempts to return home. Each issue centered on an adventure against a particular adversary, and each issue ended on a cliffhanger. The Ancestral Trail was illustrated by Julek and Adam Heller. Computer-generated graphics were provided by Mehau Kulyk for issues #27 through #52.

The arrow's away and you're pulling the second before the first hits its mark

The anvil is hard so that it can help shape the blade. If life were easy, we would all be soft and misshapen shards of metal, tossed into a bin.

The attraction of reading is that it allows you to live, for a few hours, as someone else—grants you access to their head, their thoughts, their secrets.

The asylum, and later the national health service, warehoused thousands of patients made mad by the intrusions of a sexual predator. But these institutions had been dominated by the discredited Freudian fantasy that sexual abuse doesn’t happen - that it is our illicit desires that drive us crazy. A century ago, Freud recoiled from his own theory of the sexual seduction of children and projected the problem back into the patient. He claimed in his Aetiology of Hysteria that clients, typically women, were describing their fantasies, not facts, not ‘real events’. P3

The battered and pathetic thing that represented any claim to conscience I might have had turned away from me in disgust. Oddly, I couldn't blame it. I was disgusted myself. Disgusted at my weakness and my lack of resolution, at my refusal to see justice through in the name of the woman who had borne me.

The beast inside me has begun to surface.

The beauty of your life is predicated on the richness of your sensuality.

The beauty that withstands all. Stubborn in the harshest of atmospheres.

The best I can say, it's like this. A man's in his skin, see, like a nut in its shell ... It's hard and strong, that shell, and it's all full of him. Full of grand man-meat, man-self. And that's all. That's all there is. A woman's a different thing entirely. Who knows where a woman begins and ends? Listen mistress, I have roots, I have roots deeper than this island. Deeper than the sea, older than the raising of the lands. I go back into the dark ... I go back into the dark! Before the moon I am, what a woman is, a woman of power, a woman's power, deeper than the roots of trees, deeper than the roots of islands, older than the Making, older than the moon. Who dares ask questions of the dark? Who'll ask the dark its name?

The believability of virtuality is oft superior to the unrealness of reality

The best of fiction, as we know, of course, doesn't tell the truth; it tales the truth.

The best stories are bled.

THE BEST THINGS IN LIFE ARE FREE.. mungkin ini salah satu quote favorit #jomblo dimana kebebasan adalah dasar dari kebahagiaan. ya emang kenapa tidak? jika harus memilih 1000 orang dekat dengan kita hilang hanya karna 1 orang cinta sialan yang belum tentu menjadi pendamping hidup. bukankah itu merusak keseimbangan jagat raya? so, mari mainkan yang keras Bell of Freedom. terbanglah sebebas sang angin!

The best thing to do when someone is trying to argue with you is to repeatedly state "Stay Away" and video record the entire event. You may need that video for the police afterwords when the aggressor starts fabricating fantasies about the event.

the bleakest situations bring out the hospitality in all of us, but it's during the harshest we find out how strong we really are.

The bow in hand, he finally staggered up and glanced down the alley, obviously searching for whoever had – what had he said? – ‘called’ him? Though he didn’t look much taller than her, the vast array of weapons – enough to fight a whole troop of French soldiers – was terrifying and slightly ridiculous. Like what a little boy might don to pretend to be some ancient warrior. A warrior. Oh, by the Most High… He was looking for her. Nahri was the one who had called him.

The blade hovered between us. I could kill him. He could kill me. That’s how it was meant to be—there could be nothing else between us now.

The bleached ceilings, walls, and floors gleam in perfection. Drained of color, wiped of contamination, forever untainted they exist; a cold reminder of my purity.

The Boy looked at him for a long time before responding. “Well, as long as you’re my friend, I’ll never ignore you,” he said with conviction. “I know what it’s like to be invisible to other people.

The cave sits tucked deep within the mass of rocks that sprout like moles from the forest floor.

The cartographers will not be pleased.

The bus rumbled away, its gleaming yellow body disappearing around a bend in the road, consumed by veiny crimson leaves that shrouded the trees like sweaters threaded with blood

The change we want is within us and shall always be within us; the change we can have is in the steps we can take to realize the change we want. Take a step if you want a change!

The child might fear to be born and the mother to give birth, yet neither can choose otherwise when the time is come. Neither have I a choice. This is my only path.

The children around our house have a saying that everything is either true, not true, or one of Mother's delusions. Now, I don't know about the true things or the not-true things, because there seem to be so many of them, but I do know about Mother's delusions, and they're solid. They range from the conviction that the waffle iron, unless watched, is going to strangle the toaster, to the delusion that electricity pours out of an empty socket onto your head, and nothing is going to change any one of them. The very nicest thing about being a writer is that you can afford to indulge yourself endlessly with oddness, and nobody can really do anything about it, as long as you keep writing and kind of using it up, as it were. I am, this morning, endeavoring to persuade you to join me in my deluded world; it is a happy, irrational, rich world, full of fairies and ghosts and free electricity and dragons, and a world beyond all others fun to walk around in. All you have to do---and watch this carefully please--is keep writing. As long as you write it away regularly, nothing can really hurt you.

The church preach so much about power in the kingdom of God but we don't talk about wisdom. Everybody goes for power forgeting that power without wisdom can be disastrous.

The closer we try to get to God, the more we will hate to sin in our own lives, the more we are saddened by the thoughts that runs through our minds. I also think that the more we draw closer to God, the more God will honour us and will open doors for the right things to happen in our life.

The closest I ever got to Dragonlance and Forgotten Realms was when I bought the box game set for the latter (I think this was before the novels came out). I well recall this—we were living in James Bay, in Victoria. We opened the box up and took out the maps while sitting in a Mexican restaurant. Ten minutes later I was as close as I have ever been to publicly burning someone else’s creation…What bothered us was the reworking of every fantasy cliché imaginable, all in one package now, and none of it made sense.