Fantasy Quotes - Page 2

This is the right timeThey are the right peopleWill it be enough for mankind?From "The Rishis: Book of Secrets.

If you want to write a fantasy story with Norse gods, sentient robots, and telepathic dinosaurs, you can do just that. Want to throw in a vampire and a lesbian unicorn while you're at it? Go ahead. Nothing's off limits. But the endless possibility of the genre is a trap. It's easy to get distracted by the glittering props available to you and forget what you're supposed to be doing: telling a good story. Don't get me wrong, magic is cool. But a nervous mother singing to her child at night while something moves quietly through the dark outside her house? That's a story. Handled properly, it's more dramatic than any apocalypse or goblin army could ever be.

How terrible to be a god of change and endure grief unending.

The evolution of mind requires a diet of knowledge.

The black of the ocean waves was the color of the sorrow in my breast, a sorrow that was never far away and always visible.

Ariel: “Eric!”Eric: “Do not sing me back to shore! Not until you are standing on two feet!

Turns out that once you kill a god, people want to talk to you. Paranormal insurance salesmen with special "godslayer" term life policies. Charlatan's with "godproof" armor and extraplanar safe houses for rent. But most notably, other gods...

Wisdom is the mother of solutions. You cannot upgrade in wisdom and lack solutions and you cannot have a wisdom and be stranded in any challenge you face.

It was a miracle to live as birds do, except for one thing: anyone seen in flight would surely be captured, perhaps even shot down like a crow flying above a cornfield. It's always dangerous to be different, to appear as a monster in most people's eyes, even from a distance.

Fafhrd stopped, again wiped right hand on robe, and held it out. "Name's Fafhrd. Ef ay ef aitch ar dee."Again the Mouser shook it. "Gray Mouser," he said a touch defiantly, as if challenging anyone to laugh at the sobriquet. "Excuse me, but how exactly do you pronounce that? Faf-hrud?""Just Faf-erd.

The future will never bend to the fleeting hopes of the man."From "Lucifer's Ladder: God of the Fallen, Book One

If there's a place you should be able to put yourself first, it's in your own sexual fantasies.

If we win by losing ourselves, by losing what we were fighting for, then we never really win.

Death should take more care with his paperwork.

Just as he was looking at all the stars and wondering how many millions there were, they started to blink on and off repeatedly. He knew it was the Bach flying overhead. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut, and slipped off into a restless sleep.

Empowered Women 101: Everyone wants to be a princess, but you weren't the first princess in his life. They scrubbed his floors, washed his workout clothes, picked up his dirty socks and dealt with his issues. Always remember that history leaves a pattern of what to expect. A real woman knows that the bible is a motivator, but the real instruction manual is observing the last woman's struggle.

If you truly love someone, you will cherish what they despise most about themselves" - Fernando Conclaves

The thing to remember when you're writing is, it's not whether or not what you put on paper is true. It's whether it wakes a truth in your reader.

The most preposterous notion that Homo sapiens has ever dreamed up is that the Lord God of Creation, Shaper and Ruler of all the Universes, wants the saccharine adoration of His creatures, can be swayed by their prayers, and becomes petulant if He does not receive this flattery. Yet this absurd fantasy, without a shred of evidence to bolster it, pays all the expenses of the oldest, largest, and least productive industry in all history.

I love you." He stabbed a thumb at his chest as he glared at her.Of course he did. Lucien had never hidden the fact. But the love of a friend, while comforting, was not enough anymore.It did not soothe the restless discomfort that pushed against her chest or quell the loneliness that seemed to grow within her each passing day.

I find that writing is as magical as the genre I write in. When the story comes alive and takes over, it's truly a journey to another world.

Sir Ector looked into the fire, fidgeting with something in his pocket. "I have something for you," he said at last. "It was your mother's." And he drew out the thing in his pocket and held it up to her. The ring Blanche took from him was antique silver, cabochon-set with a glimmering moonstone. Her mother's ring! Blanche folded it into her hand and held tightly to the only thing her parents had left her.

He pointed at the caiques, but Peppone declined the librarian’s offer, saying only, “Do you think the proprietor of the inn where we met will report us?”t“The money I left him was more than enough to silence his alarms,” said Danaco. “Gold has an amazing habit of altering memories.

By nature, that mind is easily fooled by supernatural mysticism. It is extremely gullible. And no matter how much we the civilized human beings advance in the fields of modern sciences, there is always a part of us, that tries to allure us with magical nonsense, because that nonsense has been with us since the birth of humanity.

I began composing the next poem, the one that was to be written next. Not the last poem of those I had read, but the poem written in the head of someone who may never have existed but who had certainly written another poem nonetheless, and just never had the chance to commit it to ink and the page.

Speak peace unto the world and good souls will stand.

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

If my life was pulled into the pages of a book, there would be coffee stains and wrinkles along the lines of that narrative. Because all I can wish is that the book of my life would be well read and well loved. Living within words and the sound of writing.

A sexual fantasy should only be something you cannot ever achieve. If it's achievable, then it's nothing more than a reality you avoid making happen for yourself

I write--because I must write.

The shifting sands of the world... show how much the surrealists were drawn towards an interrogation of what reality actually is. Unlike fabulists of whatever hue, there is a materiality in surrealist writing that resolutely keeps it, one might say, 'down to earth'.

We all know how it says it’s going to end, Dreamer, but no one knows for sure. That’s up to you, and your friends. It is the Four who shall decide whether or not it comes true, not a bunch of words written on a piece of paper. Not even,” he turned the book around so that its insides were facing her, “if it’s written in on very old, very large, dusty paper.

Over the years I have felt many things leave me.tPeople do not change, but yet somehow time alters everything.tAs the years roll on people are not quite as forgiving, nor quite as kind, hopeful, loving.

I have found the more fantastic the setting, the more truthful the confessions.

Nevertheless, the potential and actual importance of fantastic literature lies in such psychic links: what appears to be the result of an overweening imagination, boldly and arbitrarily defying the laws of time, space and ordered causality, is closely connected with, and structured by, the categories of the subconscious, the inner impulses of man's nature. At first glance the scope of fantastic literature, free as it is from the restrictions of natural law, appears to be unlimited. A closer look, however, will show that a few dominant themes and motifs constantly recur: deals with the Devil; returns from the grave for revenge or atonement; invisible creatures; vampires; werewolves; golems; animated puppets or automatons; witchcraft and sorcery; human organs operating as separate entities, and so on. Fantastic literature is a kind of fiction that always leads us back to ourselves, however exotic the presentation; and the objects and events, however bizarre they seem, are simply externalizations of inner psychic states. This may often be mere mummery, but on occasion it seems to touch the heart in its inmost depths and become great literature.

You sort of start thinking anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve

As for peace, it was never free and laws were made to be broken. Peacemaker or lawbreaker, someone, somewhere always paid the price no matter what side of the words they were on.

But what if Oscar—”t“Breathes fire and threatens to cook you over a grill?”t“I was thinking what if he gets mad, but I think your way works as well.”t“Then you shall make for a tasty meal.

He danced across my heart like a pirate,Constantly discovering my secrets,Turning over every hidden treasure,Drowning me in his fantasy.

There are more than straight good and evil, aye, even more than law or disorders or fence-sittin'. There's prejudice, whimsey, affection, superstition, habit, upbringing, alliance, pride, society, morals, animosity, preference, values, religon, circumstance, humor, perversity, honor, vengeance, jealousy, frustration...hundreds o' factors, from the past and in every present moment, as decides what some one person'll do in an individious situation.

Beware of self-indulgence. The romance surrounding the writing profession carries several myths: that one must suffer in order to be creative; that one must be cantankerous and objectionable in order to be bright; that ego is paramount over skill; that one can rise to a level from which one can tell the reader to go to hell. These myths, if believed, can ruin you. If you believe you can make a living as a writer, you already have enough ego.

I did wonder if there really was such a person as Aslan: but then sometimes I wondered if there were really people like you. Yet there you are.

Your name isn't Sniffles?" Ewan pretended to be surprised.

Blind minds are worst than blind eyes. That you have eyes does not mean that you have vision. Visionaries do not look they see whlie people look.

Finally, mercifully, the spasms subsided, as the old man’s head lolled back, his mouth hanging open, taking in deep, ragged breaths of stale, recirculated air.

I will never understand why you Humans weren’t designed to recycle your body’s water after filtering waste. It’s just so much more efficient.

My wishing star glowed slightly and winked back at me. I could almost hear its voice, tinkling like wind chimes and church bells, reassuring me that everything would return to normal.

Clearing his throat “It is very improper for a lady to open the door, to a person of the opposite sex in her… sleeping attire.”“Improper? I look like I am wearing a rug,” I exclaimed, as I motioned at the calf-length thick red fabric; that I was wearing with wide shoulder straps. “Secondly, I don’t see you as human, let alone a man. You are more like a homicidal invention, of my hormonal teenage nightmare; which I can’t seem to be able to awake from.

And those women were sneaky. They understood that including fantastical elements in their tales- golden eggs, signing harps, talking frogs- worked to mask a deeper purpose....it made the stories look on the surface like 'a mere bubble of nonsense' within which it was possible to 'utter harsh truths, to say what you dare' about the state of women's lives. Because they were just stories, right? Harmless little fantasies?

I would be a wedge-tailed eagle. I would only live for the joy of flight. I would soar at great heights, on top of the wind. I would be above everything, over the little towns clinging to the highway. I would be a part of everything.

I'm scared, all right?" I said. I could feel my stomach churn as my gaze rested on the wooden trunk.Nathan turned my chin, looking at me with an expression of utter sincerity. "You don't have to be. I'm here.

Letti wasn’t born to pass through the world. She had been born to sit atop of it.

The identification of fantasy is always an attempt to avoid one's own suffering: the identification of art is the sharing in the suffering of another.

Supernatural fiction contains its own generic borderland: a neutral territory, which Tzvetan Todorov calls 'the fantastic,' between 'the marvelous' and 'the uncanny.' According to Todorov, 'The fantastic is that hesitation experienced by a person who knows only the laws of nature, confronting an apparently supernatural event.' Once the event is satisfactorily explained (and sometimes it is never explained), we have left the fantastic for an adjacent genre - either 'the uncanny,' where the apparently supernatural is revealed as illusory, or 'the marvelous,' where the laws of ordinary reality must be revised to incorporate the supernatural. As long as uncertainty reigns, however, we are in the ambiguous realm of the fantastic.

Although the villagers rose with the sun to work the fields, attend to the animals, bake their bread, and begin their long list of chores, for me, Leya Truelong, this was a day like no other. Today, Wren River was touched by the fantastic. Desiccate by Bonnie Ferrante

Memory is like a box of chocolates. They disappear quickly.

Star, pillows don't attack dogs," Sam said."Or anything else," Turtle added.

Do not lose your heart," she said. What she did not tell me was that the surest way to lose it was to hold it tight.

Gabriel: What’s the point of having power, if one cannot use it? What’s the point of immortality, if one cannot truly live?

She dreamed of autumn. Of chilly autumn winds and soft fall rains. She could even feel the cool moisture as the rain drops touched her face and ran down her cheeks. Her denim skirt and work boots felt heavy as the rain in her dreams splashed cold water against them