Best 153 quotes in «fairytale quotes» category

It began with the Christmas tree lights. They were candy-bright, mouth-size. She wanted to feel the lightness of them on her tongue, the spark on her tastebuds. Without him life was so dark, and all the holiday debris only made it worse. She promised herself she wouldn't bite down.

It was your personality that consumed me. You became my favorite. My favorite of them all…

It's too early for strawberries. But the clearing is filled with their leaves and their little white flowers, like fallen stars. The wishing well was covered, too, so that only someone who knew it was there would have really noticed it. It looks like a barrow under the green; somewhere fairies or goblins might live.

It was impossible not to fall in love with him.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the hottest bitch of all?

I want to tell you all of myself, show you the nicks and dents and scars of my life, and have you love me even though I be grievously flawed.

Love is a fairytale blah, blah, blah.

Mary Poppins is not a fairy-tale." "She's even better!" said Alfred loyally. "She's a fairy-tale come true.

Mirror mirror on the wall, Show me the one who can conquer it all

I will do everything I can to be the man that you want, the man that the seven-year-old you used to dream about. I will bring you flowers, I’ll take care of you when you’re sick, I’ll give you space when you need it and I’ll never leave your side when you want someone there. I want to be better than I am because of you, Paisley.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, Who is the fairest one of all?

Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: 'Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy

Mortals aren't born strong, they become strong.

My life written as a theater production would be considered a tragedy. My life written by the good times experienced, would be considered a fairytale.

Muse’s creations are predominately lyrical often resulting in poetic sonnets and fairytale like art.

My father lost me to the Beast at cards

MY LIFE MAY NOT BE A FAIRY TALE BUT IT'S A DAMN GOOD READ

My names were hand-me-downs too: girl, the creature, or, most often, you there.

No one on this earth simply succeeded in stopping feelings from running wild, and surely not because his or her thoughts wanted it badly.

Never grow up!

Once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life love knocks our doors, enters our lives & changes it forever. You start believing in dreams, you start making wishes & you start to trust your heart even more! That love holds your hands & makes you feel you are safer than ever; that love makes you believe that nothing can go wrong now; and oh that warm hug, which makes you want to spend your entire life then & there! That’s when you realise you are not living an ordinary life, but it’s a fairytale!

On a cloudless night, inky dark, with only a rind of a moon above, the Golem and the Jinni went walking together along the Prince Street rooftops.

Possibly, she thought, the pool of answers was limited. There are fewer answers in the world than questions, and if you ask me now why that is so, I must tell you that there is no answer to that question.

One kiss,” he murmured against her cheek. The tight knot within him begged for release. She swallowed. “I…do… don’t know.” “I will nae beg for one, Eve.” He nuzzled the skin below her ear, making him crave her even more. “Yes,” she whispered.

Scaoileadh Me.... 'Release me.' That was what he said. No doubt about it. It was in Gaelic, but that was what the voice said. Holy. Crap.

Sad really.” Avenant mused. “Trevelyan was part of a majestic race. Doomed and enslaved by lesser beings, but majestic, none the less.” His gaze swept over the rest of the group with a sigh. “I know the feeling well.

The boat dipped and swayed and sometimes took on water, but it did not sink; the two brothers had waterproofed it well. I do not know where it finally fetched up, if it ever did; perhaps it reached the sea and sails there forever, like a magic boat in a fairytale. All I know is that it was still afloat and still running on the breast of the flood when it passed te incorporated town limits of Derry, Maine, and there it passes out of this tale forever.

She says affection is all very well being imagined, like a romantic fancy, but marriage should be based on practical purposes in order to last longer.

The Castleteria was bustling with activity as students ate lunch. Hagatha, the lunch lady, was an expert at fixing meals for all sorts of palates and all sizes of stomachs. Porridge was always on the menu, as were curds and whey. The day's lunch special was cheeseburgers, grilled by dragon fire, with a helping of enormous green beans, provided by the giants.

Secrets are dark things. They don’t exist in the light. They glow faintly in forgotten corners, in mysterious mind-nooks, in lost memory maps. Secrets are the shadows of the soul.

She is a figure of legend and fairy tale, one to be taken seriously, or she might knock you off your feet with a quick whirl of the staff she carries everywhere.

She's an unfinished fairytale that never got any closure on pages.

Sometimes the wrong fairytale turns out to be just right!

The castle always looks so mysterious," she said, awed. "Is it wonderful, living there?" "It isn’t so mysterious when you're there. I'd rather look at it from the hills. It's just—full of people, at least the servants' parts are, crowded and ordinary. Things should be mysterious, but there's nothing mysterious in the palace." "Should things be mysterious?" "There's mystery in the hills and in the wind on the grass. And in the stories you like. Isn't life mysterious?

The little queen’s mother and father had said that she would live on, for a long time, and that her tears would magnify the life around her forever more, but they had not explained how she should go about going on.

The euphoric lust cloud is gone and once the smoke begins to clear, like in all good fairytales, the princess turns into nothing more than a common farm girl while the prince goes back to being a regular frog.

There were fat cats and skinny cats. The long-tailed and the bobbed. The daring young leapers, and the old windowsill sleepers. Balls of waddling fluff, smooth-coated prowlers, and hairless ones that looked fragile and wise. The tiger-striped, the ring-tailed, and the ones with matching coloured socks and mittens. There were tabbies and calicos. Manx and Persians. Siamese and Bombay. Ragdolls and Birmans. Maine Coons and Russian Blues. There were Snowshoes and Somalis, Tonkinese and Turkish, and many, many more. Brown and beige and orange and grey and black and white and silver cats, each with gleaming eyes of emerald, or sapphire, or amber. A rainbow of precious stones.

There was a clink of glass slippers against the wood floor, and then her mother appeared in the doorway. She had the same strawberry-blond hair and green eyes as Ashlynn. Her mother was already dressed, but Ashlynn didn't notice the clothes she was wearing. As always, her eyes went right to the glass slippers. Oh, how she loved those shoes. "Chores, dear!" her mother said, leaning over to kiss the top of Ashlynn's head. "And then you should pack." "Yes, Mother!" Ashlynn washed her face, put on an apron, and then opened wide the door to her shoe closet. This princess wouldn't care if she wore a burlap sack every day, so long as she had dozens of footwear choices. Today she settled on a pair of scrappy teal wedges and went to start breakfast. Even though her father's grand house came fully stocked with servants, her mother believed in good, solid, character-forming chores. After all, Ashlynn would inherit her mother's story and become the next Cinderella someday, and there would be lots of floors to mop and hearths to sweep her Happily Ever After.

The mirror sighed and spoke in a tone tinged with melancholy. Its language was old and not of any of the worlds known or unknown. What you dream, what you darkly desire, Find it by trial or by fire. Seek it high and seek it low, Search the skies or the realms below. Look everywhere but beware, The deepest magic, the strongest spell Will not change what the stars foretell.

They are faithful, even if we are not.

The swamp roses, Gillie. It was the mare found them. She—if she hadn't run off—it was almost as if she meant me to see them." "Are you saying? . . ." "I don't know what I’m saying. Yes," she cried, a gay silliness taking her. Drunk with the music and the dancing, drunk with his closeness, she laughed up at him. It was just as in the stories, a kind of magic just like . . ." and then she stared at him, confounded.  "Just like what?"  "But in the stories . . ."  "In the stories . . . what?”  "In the stories . . ."  "In the stories there’s a prince," Gillie answered quietly. He held her away then. "So the story has come true.

They began with a winter soup, lovingly cooked in a copper pot with a shinbone left over from Sunday lunch- But the witch brought in a light bouillon, simmered with the sweetest of baby shallots and scented with ginger and lemongrass and served with croutons so crisp and small that they seemed to vanish in her mouth- The mother brought in the second course. Sausages and potato mash; a comforting dish the child always loved, with sticky onion marmalade- But the witch brought in a brace of quail that had been gorged on ripe figs all their lives, now roasted and stuffed with chestnuts and foie gras and served with a coulis of pomegranate- Now the mother was close to despair. She brought dessert: a stout apple pie, made to her mother's recipe. But the witch had made a pièce montée: a pastel-colored sugared dream of almonds, summer fruit, and pastries like a puff of air, all scented with rose and marshmallow cream, and served with a glass of Château d'Yquem-

This is a dark tale. A grim tale. It's a tale from another time, a time when wolves waited for girls in the forest, beasts paced the halls of cursed castles, and witches lurked in gingerbread houses with sugar-kissed roofs. That time is long gone. But the wolves are still here and twice as clever. The beasts remain. And death still hides in a dusting of white. It's grim for any girl who loses her way. Grimmer still for a girl her loses herself. Know that it's dangerous to stray from the path. But it's far more dangerous not to.

They ran through the night together in a darkling fairy tale of blood and forests and snow, of girls with raven's wing hair and rose-red lips and sharp teeth as white as milk.

This probably isn’t something you’re supposed to say at a moment like this, but I think the moon is seriously overrated.” A moment like what? I bite my cheeks, taming the grin that threatens to take over my face. “And the stars?” I ask, once the smile is under control. “Wildly underrated,” he declares with a grin. He looks up again. “The sky is a storybook,” he says then. “Every constellation’s like its own fairy tale.

To love, to live, to feel so much that your world keeps spinning, faster and faster, in that wonderful, chaotic mess of humanity that you’d so hastily give up. Immortality is overrated. It is nothing but the ability to live through it all and not experience a single thing, to eat everything without tasting it at all." Isak’s eyes shone with a desperate need. He wanted, more than anything it seemed, to be like me, when all I wanted was to be like him.

Today, it was Thalia’s turn to tell the story. And this time, it was going to have a happy ending. She knew this for a fact, because she had written it herself.

To imagine is to spark beauty in our thoughts.

Twenty-five minutes ago, I was blissfully invisible. No laughing. No evil grins. No drama. And now? It couldn’t be more dramatic. I’ve got a stepsister masquerading as Cinderella, the chauvinistic villagers think I’m the ugly stepsister, and the boy coming to my side is more likely to snag a prince than I am.

Walk barefoot on your dogma… Art is a journey into your existential fairytale.