Best 488 quotes in «fairy tales quotes» category

May you never grow too old to believe in magic and fairy tales.

Might I take this moment to give thanks to our loving Creator for supplying us with all our needs for this day and always!” Grampa Foster, The Little People Journey into the Mystic Sea

Mirror Mirror on the Wall, Who Do I see Before Me? I see a Girl Who Is Fearless Because Her Reflection Reflects Her Faith. - Kailin Gow, Fearless Fairy Tales Series

Miss Foxe's other passion was fairy tales. She loved the transformations in them. Everybody was in disguise, or on their way to becoming something else. And all was overcome by order in the end. Love could not prevail if the order of the tale didn't wish it, and neither could hatred, nor grief, nor cunning. If you were the first of three siblings, then you were going to make a big mistake, and that was that. If you were the third sibling, you couldn't fail.

More than Captain America your kids need Amelia Earhart – more than Ant Man, they need Abraham Lincoln - more than Green Arrow they need Gandhi – more than Iron Man they need Isaac Newton.

Most intellectual development depends upon new readings of old texts. I am all for putting new wine in old bottles, especially if the pressure of the new wine makes the bottles explode.

Mrs. Potts beady black eyes narrowed,"Do you know how many glass slippers I have to stitch when I get home? There's a Mad Hatter serenading a toaster as we speak. There could be mayhem wreaking havoc all over the love in New Gotham, granted what thankless ingrates you are. But here I am!

Mrs. Pott's beady black eyes narrowed,"Do you know how many glass slippers I have to stitch when I get home? There's a Mad Hatter serenading a toaster as we speak. There could be mayhem wreaking havoc all over the love in New Gotham, granted what thankless ingrates you are. But here I am! I've taken a chance on you..

My head says forget it, my heart says I’ll regret it, and what my stomach tells me, I should not ignore. Oh no, I gotta go, give me a leave, not your sleeve! I know this will cease, when I feel peace. So I will help a boy, come to Joy, a risk I shall take, it’s no mistake, my stomach tells me so.” Deetkatu, Meet the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

My head says forget it, my heart says I’ll regret it, and what my stomach tells me, I should not ignore. Oh no, I gotta go, give me a leave, not your sleeve! I know this will cease, when I feel peace. So I will help a boy, come to Joy, a risk I shall take, it’s no mistake, my stomach tells me so.” Deetkatu, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

My heart broke a little at her unblemished view of life: She still believed in innocent secrets, the heady rush of a good mystery, and happily ever after... (I wasn't about to disabuse her of those sweet notions.)...Little girls should be allowed to dream.

My heart, it yearns for Cadoett, blessed kingdom by the sea. Though far away, I’m sent to roam, my soul it sings, ‘my city–my home, my city–my home.

My name is Arianna Morganna Brittany DuLac--you can imagine why I went by the name Ryan.

Never go down to the darkest room. Stay far away from the rotting coffin. If you want to live through the night, let the devil sleep.

Nabokov calls every great novel a fairy tale, I said. Well, I would agree. First, let me remind you that fairy tales abound with frightening witches who eat children and wicked stepmothers who poison their beautiful stepdaughters and weak fathers who leave their children behind in forests. But the magic comes from the power of good, that force which tells us we need not give in to the limitations and restrictions imposed on us by McFate, as Nabokov called it. Every fairy tale offers the potential to surpass present limits, so in a sense the fairy tale offers you freedoms that reality denies. In all great works of fiction, regardless of the grim reality they present, there is an affirmation of life against the transience of that life, an essential defiance.

Myths are different than fairy tales or legends. Legends are stories based in history and are more or less true. Myths, on the other hand, are stories containing a deeper truth—stories that transcend time. If you were to travel the world, you would find myths that are remarkably similar to one another—stories of heroes fighting the darkness with the light.

...Myths aren’t fairy tales or legends—they’re an honest attempt to explain mysteries...

Not all fairy tales have happily ever afters, some just have afters.

No one is too old for fairy tales.

Not all fairy tales come from the books.

Never underestimate children... They can experience the same horrors as the rest of us without knowing any different.

Not all who are lost are lost forever.

Now Arthur, if humans could learn to gaze with their eyes or use their special sight, they would realize there is more to seeing than just what is in front of them!” Den the Wise Oak Tree, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Nowhere hidden has ever turned away a goodheart guest.

Now Arthur, if humans could learn to gaze with their eyes or use their special sight, they would realize there is more to seeing than just what is in front of them!” Den the Wise Oak Tree, Meet the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Now fairy stories are at risk too, like the forests. Padraic Column has suggested that artificial lighting dealt them a mortal wound: when people could read and be productive after dark, something fundamental changed, and there was no longer need or space for the ancient oral tradition. The stories were often confined to books, which makes the text static, and they were handed over to children.

Of course, fairy tales are transmissible. You can catch them, or be infected by them. They are currency that we share with those who walked the world before ever we were here. (Telling stories to my children that I was, in my turn, told by my parents and grandparents makes me feel part of something special and odd, part of the continuous stream of life itself.)

OHHHH don’t make me cry, I’m a big strong guy, I can make you laugh and I’d never tell a lie, See my muscles on my legs when I swim, I can do back spins with the force of my fins. SOOOOO don’t make me cry, I’m a big strong guy, I can make you laugh and I’d never tell lie. The muscles in my heart are tougher than my shell, To “love” makes me stronger than to lift a barbell.” Willard the Sea Turtle, The Little People Journey into the Mystic Sea

Once upon a time there was a man with no heart. Drifting through black-and-white life, caring naught for those hurt, and never, ever allowing another near enough to hurt him. Until, on the least likely day, the most unlikely place, the man with no heart met the most surprising person. He was fearless. He was strength and power. He wore his heart boldly on his sleeve. The man with no heart began, shockingly, to feel a movement in his breast. A stretching, a slow, steady beat...

Oh, oh. Gerade habe ich mir noch ein Wolf gelacht, aber jetzt starre ich fassungslos auf den Hipster vor mir, der ganz offensichtlich ein Hipster-Wolf ist!

OMG. He's a gift shop, a lamb kebab with mint,/a solar panel poetry machine with biceps. He's the path/through the dark woods, the light on the page, a postcard/from the castle and a one-way ticket there. He's the most/astounding arrangement of molecules ever!/Just look at those tights! An honest-to-God prince at last.

Once upon a time,' I whispered, "there was a girl who got away.' The light burned a little less brightly through my lids. Maybe. 'Once upon a time there was a girl who changed her fate,' I said, louder. The words ran together like beads on a string. Like a story, or a bridge I could climb-- up, up, up, like a nursery-rhyme spider. 'She grew up like a fugitive, because her life belonged to another place." I held my fingertips out, feeling the ice of them melt the wall's fine, hot fizzing. 'She remembered her real mother, far away on an Earth made of particles and elements and /reason/. Not stories. And she ripped a hole in the world so she could find her way home. And she lived happily ever after in a place far, far from the Hinterland,' I said. I begged. 'And the freeze left her skin. And she found her real mother in the world where she had left her.' Slowly, slowly, I opened my eyes.

Once upon a time the fairy tales begin. But then they end and often you don't know really what has happened, what was meant to happen, you only know what you've been told, what the words suggest.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who lived in a cottage at the edge of the woods. She was neither young nor old, neither pretty nor unattractive. As such, people from the village didn’t take much notice of her. Nor did she take much notice of them. She spent her days foraging for roots and mushrooms in the forest, simmering broths in the cauldron at her hearth, and spinning wool into long strings that would be woven into shawls and mittens.

Once upon a time, there was a naïve and innocent girl who thought she could tame the beast and live happily ever after. But the beast did not want to be tamed, for he was a beast and beasts care not for such things, and the girl died along with her dreams. From childhood's grave sprang a young woman, jaded before her years, who knew that beasts could wear the skins of men, and that evil could exist in sunlight, as well as darkness. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

One evening, after a particularly terrible row, the prince smashed his princess over the head with an old wooden clock and she tumbled to the floor, dead.

One shouldn't be labelled a cynic just because one refuses to believe in fairy tales.

One is not a "believer" in fairy tales. There is no theology, no body of dogma, no ritual, no institution, no expectation for a form of behavior. They are about the unexpectedness and mutability of the world.

One of my favourite things to do when I write is to bring a sense of wonder to a normal everyday setting... Yes, there are magical elements, but there are also very down-to-earth elements and often what shines through isn’t the magic, but the lanterns that the characters light against the dark... If you substitute the words “fairy tale” or “myth” for “fantasy,” the reason I use these elements in my own work is that they create resonances that illuminate solutions to the real world struggle without the need for an authorial voice to point them out. Magic never solves the problems–we have to do that on our own–but in fiction it allows the dialogue to have a much more organic approach than the talking heads one can encounter in fiction that doesn’t utilize the same tools. [from the interview Year’s Best 2012: Charles de Lint on “A Tangle of Green Men”]

Outbreaks of unvarnished truths in the backyard of our true self can be very precious and inspiring, even though we might inconsistently be tempted to give in to the exhilarating perfume of fables and fairy tales or to flattering praise and fiction. ("The day the mirror was talking back")

Our traditions teach us the past is not forgot, yet the past repeats the future believe it or not. If we dwell on the negative, we continue to make, an unhealthy life we must never forsake. Our fairy ring teaches us cause and effect, what we give to the world, returns to us direct!” Chepi, Meet the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Our traditions teach us the past is not forgot, yet the past repeats the future believe it or not. If we dwell on the negative, we continue to make, an unhealthy life we must never forsake. Our fairy ring teaches us cause and effect, what we give to the world, returns to us direct!” Chepi, See the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

People would rather believe in fairy godmothers and divine intervention than to think that you took charge of your own destiny.

Pan took the joke good-naturedly, probably deciding it wasn't a good idea to argue with a fifteen-year-old who had just pulled two people up ten feet.

Please tell a story about a girl who gets away.” I would, even if I had to adapt one, even if I had to make one up just for her. “Gets away from what, though?” “From her fairy godmother. From the happy ending that isn’t really happy at all. Please have her get out and run off the page altogether, to somewhere secret where words like ‘happy’ and ‘good’ will never find her.” “You don’t want her to be happy and good?” “I’m not sure what’s really meant by happy and good. I would like her to be free. Now. Please begin.

Perhaps it also demonstrates that any young girl can live quite healthily on coarse bread and clear water – so long as she has fine clothes.

Pixies is understood as the counterparts of faeries.

Plus, I happened to be a history nerd. Why else would I be interested in a guy born in the year 519?

Princess Cookie’s cognitive pathways may have required a more comprehensive analysis. He knew that it was possible to employ certain progressive methods of neural interface, but he felt somewhat apprehensive about implementing them, for fear of the risks involved and of the limited returns such tactics might yield. For instance, it would be a particularly wasteful endeavor if, for the sake of exhausting every last option available, he were even to go so far as resorting to invasive Ontological Neurospelunkery, for this unorthodox process would only prove to be the cerebral equivalent of tracking a creature one was not even sure existed: surely one could happen upon some new species deep in the caverns somewhere and assume it to be the goal of one’s trek, but then there was a certain idiocy to this notion, as one would never be sure this newfound entity should prove to be what one wished it to be; taken further, this very need to find something, to begin with, would only lead one to clamber more deeply inward along rigorous paths and over unsteady terrain, the entirety of which could only be traversed with the arrogant resolve of someone who has already determined, with a misplaced sense of pride in his own assumptions, that he was undoubtedly making headway in a direction worthwhile. And assuming still that this process was the only viable option available, and further assuming that Morell could manage to find a way to track down the beast lingering ostensibly inside of Princess Cookie, what was he then to do with it? Exorcise the thing? Reason with it? Negotiate maybe? How? Could one hope to impose terms and conditions upon the behavior of something tracked and captured in the wilds of the intellect? The thought was a bizarre one and the prospect of achieving success with it unlikely. Perhaps, it would be enough to track the beast, but also to let it live according to its own inclinations inside of her. This would seem a more agreeable proposition. Unfortunately, however, the possibility still remained that there was no beast at all, but that the aberration plaguing her consciousness was merely a side effect of some divine, yet misunderstood purpose with which she had been imbued by the Almighty Lord Himself. She could very well have been functioning on a spiritual plane far beyond Morell’s ability to grasp, which, of course, seared any scrutiny leveled against her with the indelible brand of blasphemy. To say the least, the fear of Godly reprisal which this brand was sure to summon up only served to make the prospect of engaging in such measures as invasive Ontological Neurospelunkery seem both risky and wasteful. And thus, it was a nonstarter.

Pretty things can be denied when it is beauty that comes from a place inside. Your outer appearance may have its place but to walk in beauty is to walk in grace. So lift your confidence to gain inner merit, then walk in beauty and connect to your spirit. Embellish yourself with art for fun, it enhances, inspires and in beauty, YOU RUN!" Maiara, The Little People Journey into the Mystic Sea