Best 4015 quotes in «fantasy quotes» category

Sleep now, baby. I’ll be here when you wake.

Small Acts of Kindness are Priceless

Sleep my baby, rock-a-bye, On the edge you must not lie. Wolf the Fluffy roams astray, Will he grab you, drag away? Into Furthest Darkest Woods, Hide you under Willow roots? There birdies chirp and squeak, Will they let you fall asleep?

Smart people are always learning something new. Stupid people just stay stupid. Remember that.

Snälla, Keelan, berätta. Jag är hemskt nyfiken. Var är min plats?” ”Längst bak. Bland kvinnorna.

So an inerrant archer who's inaccurate." Hastra to Athson, from The Bow of Destiny

So fair a victor, how can I help but be conquered.

Soffia le ultime parole, sorreggendosi a me. È creta tra le mie dita che tremano. Sì, tremano perché vorrebbero farla sentire al sicuro, invece sono io ad angosciarla. Non le rispondo – Cosa potrei risponderle? – ma la forgio al mio petto, tra le pareti di questo corridoio buio più della mia anima, più del nostro futuro, più delle certezze: Rose è la sola luce nella mia esistenza programmata, il solo astro capace di rischiarire le tenebre del cuore.

So far I had the god of evil and the god of terror on my side. My good-guy image was taking a serious beating. Maybe I should recruit some unicorns or kittens with rainbow powers to even us out.

So I'm not allowed to take responsibility for the whole world, but you are, huh? Kees felt the corners of his mouth twitch and his heart squeeze and then melt. ... I am bigger, he growled. And she laughed.

So how did it go? I sat on the toilet and ran a hand over my hair. Um... it's still going, I whispered. It's still going? Then what are you doing calling me? Well... it's just that... What? How could I put this? I can't find his penis. Claire paused for half a second. How drunk are you?

So in a six-minute stretch we see display fearlessness, tenacity, intelligence, savvy, a firm allegiance to team, assertiveness, toughness, and a willingness to obliterate a man in front of the woman that man's supposed to marry. Jim Halpert [The Office] is a winner.

So fine a medicine is the will to action.

So how did you do it? What makes the cold-hearted princeling mortal like the rest of us?

So he dreamt of the land of sunbeams; and that was a dream indeed!

so höre denn, was zu hören lohnt: es fürchte der weise die nacht ohne mond.

So – I am n-nothing more than – than a bloody job?! On top of not knowing why you must look after me – you only jumped at the chance to help me because your – that V-Vampire thought you couldn’t?! What are you, some – some child?!” “I am no child, human!” “Oh I would not have thought so,” she breathed condescendingly sending his blood to boil despite the ring, “if it were not for the fact that only children react so wondrously juvenile when faced with such a choice! You bargain my life over a show of bravado! And where is your brother, Christian?! He has not been here to see your brilliant work as my watcher, has he?!

So if I asked you to wear my skirt and juggle my high heels, you would?” I joked. I could only see Andrew's face in profile, but a grin overtook his earlier grim expression, and he laughed. “I draw the line at wearing women’s clothing.” “Are you sure?” I whispered seductively, nibbling on his earlobe. “That’s cheating,” he said, his breath hitching. I kissed down his neck. “If all else fails, I’ll never rule out using my womanly wiles.” “I refuse to be used as a pawn by my devious lover,” he countered, grinning. I abruptly pulled away from him. “Ah, well, it never hurts to try.

So I’m figuring this is death. The little air left in the cockpit is toxic with marthenine, and I can only wonder how much of it I have breathed in. Is my throat becoming raw hamburger? My lungs, oatmeal?

So is this being in love? I stay with the moment, waiting to find out, the space between us fluctuating with uncertainty. The only thing I am sure of is that each time his lips leave mine they are right back again.

So learn a lesson – don’t project worlds. They create frustrations and misery and anguish. Just live this moment, that’s all. Then wait, and when the next moment comes we will see.

Solen spelar över henne, får henne att se ut som en drake gjord av is och frost och kyla.

sólo tiemblo por el frío, y sólo lloro por amor.

Someday I'd like to sail far away again. Think of how much of the world we've left to see!" But then he cocked his head. "Would you mind?" "Not as long as you took me with you." There was that beautiful smile. "Always.

Someday, Ry, you are going to realize who Darren really is. He’s a prince, and he’s only going to break your heart.

Someday my prince will come,” she lamented softly, “too fast.

Some days, theory is all that we have,” I say. “It’s better than having nothing at all.”, FADE by Kailin Gow

Some justice, though did not deal with kindheartedness or good feeling toward others. No, justice had a darker side, a gray area where it mingled alongside vengeance, and only the wise and pure of heart were able to tell the two apart. That kind of justice was swift. It was only called upon afer mercy and morals fail. It was the darkest form of goodness known to anyone, even the gods, and required only the strongest, most daring men to bring about.

Someone smashed a flutterfler and without even thinking she touched her Stone and used Wyrd to piece its broken body back together. She filled its empty vessels with dreams and it became the stuff it used for blood. It brushed her cheek with its wings, then flew off -- dancing in the hot air.

Some part of me knew from the first that what I wanted was not reality but myth.

Some people are destined to be a lighthouse for a lost comrade.

Some people fight fire with fire. I've found water to be more effective.

Some people thought that camouflage meant blending into the surroundings, but they were wrong. Camouflage was misdirection: A visual lie. And very few people could tell a lie as well as she.

Some people spend their whole lives in a fantasy world, and that’s not a good thing!

Something emerged from the air and slumped on the concrete floor behind Mosquera. The men near the table recoiled in horror. One gasped and stepped backwards, falling over a chair with a crash. Two others crossed themselves. Lock moved the fly so he could see past Mosquera. His blood ran cold. The lumpy mass on the floor looked as though the Devil himself had grabbed Miguel, squashed and scrambled his skin, muscles and bones, and dropped the mess back on the concrete. Like everybody else in the room, Lock was in shock. People didn’t die in teleportation, but the evidence was in front of him. What on earth had Mosquera used?

Some readers may find it a curious or even unscientific endeavour to craft a criminological model of organised abuse based on the testimony of survivors. One of the standard objections to qualitative research is that participants may lie or fantasise in interview, it has been suggested that adults who report severe child sexual abuse are particularly prone to such confabulation. Whilst all forms of research, whether qualitative or quantitative, may be impacted upon by memory error or false reporting. there is no evidence that qualitative research is particularly vulnerable to this, nor is there any evidence that a fantasy— or lie—prone individual would be particularly likely to volunteer for research into child sexual abuse. Research has consistently found that child abuse histories, including severe and sadistic abuse, are accurate and can be corroborated (Ross 2009, Otnow et al. 1997, Chu et al. 1999). Survivors of child abuse may struggle with amnesia and other forms of memory disturbance but the notion that they are particularly prone to suggestion and confabulation has yet to find a scientific basis. It is interesting to note that questions about the veracity of eyewitness evidence appear to be asked far more frequently in relation to sexual abuse and rape than in relation to other crimes. The research on which this book is based has been conducted with an ethical commitment to taking the lives and voices of survivors of organised abuse seriously.

Some stories soak into the threads of the universe, beyond time, becoming echoes of memory lingering in the darkness, like dead stars, whispering light.

Something breathing, something bleeding, something blue. It was time to cast her first spell as the Gargoyle.

Some time later, I sat in the wine cellar, staring at the walls while cradling a wineskin in my lap like a child, murmuring over and over as if lulling the child to sleep, 'I am shat upon. I am shat upon'.

Sometimes death is just the beginning

Sometimes even the best of us have to lose ourselves in fantasy to survive reality.

Sometimes everything you know in the world turns out to be a lie. But at the end of the day the lie isn’t what matters, it’s what you do after you tell it. If you work hard enough you can make it true.

Some stories need to be told time and again. Every generation forgets. Every child learns anew.

Something warned me that what I might see would haunt me forever.

Sometimes bad things lead to something better than you could ever imagine.

Sometimes even the smallest of efforts can change someone’s fate entirely.

Sometimes human places, create inhuman monsters.― Stephen King, The Shining

Sometimes I replay your dreams in my head to get me by" My heart cracked. "What dreams?" "The one where we married and had kids. I used to watch you sleep within your sleep and talk to your belly" In the room in Fairy, I'd gone there to be with Luke knowing it wasn't real. I'd dreamed we had a normal life with kids. "What did you say?" "I would tell our child how much I loved you both

Sometimes it isn’t just about the people doing the exciting part of things. Sometimes it’s about the people holding things together back home too.", FADE by Kailin Gow

Sometimes it's beautiful and we fall in love with all that story. Even after a thousand pages we don't want to leave the world the writer has made for us, or the make-believe people who live there. You wouldn't leave after two thousand pages, if there were two thousand. The Rings trilogy of J.R.R.Tolkien is a perfect example of this. A thousand pages of hobbits hasn't been enough for three generations of post-World War II fantasy fans; even when you add in that clumsy, galumphing dirigible of an epilogue, The Silmarillion, it hasn't been enough. Hence Terry Brooks, Piers Anthony, Robert Jordan, the questing rabbits of Watership Down, and half a hundred others. The writers of these books are creating the hobbits they still love and pine for; they are trying to bring Frodo and Sam back from the Grey Havens because Tolkien is no longer around to do it for them.