Fantasy Quotes - Page 27

I'd never known that I could feel this broken and whole at once.

Victor wrapped his fingers over my hand, pressing his face against my palm. “You’re the bravest girl I’ve ever met. I’m so incredibly proud of you.”“Who knew that one day the word someone would use to describe me is brave. Life is very unpredictable.” I chuckled. “There are many other words I could think of to describe you but I’m not really good at flattery.

People search in vain forever to find what we've got. I don't know shit about anything, Jenna, and I might be inexperienced, but I know you'll never love anyone like you love me.''I won't she,' she whispered.'And yet you can leave me so easily for a baby you don't have and a husband you've never met. I'm here, I'm real, and I just lost to a goddamn fantasy. I must've never really had you at all.

The day I let all that fear and worry consume me was the day it all changed. I slipped off that bridge and fell into the void I’d always dreamt about. The thing was, that was also that day I started to live.

I warned you I like to play games.

My body felt alive.tI need more.t"Valkyrie," Fen growled, eyes locked on my mouth. "Put your lips back on mine, and I will give you what you crave.

She has no interest in human quarrels, for they are often petty and always pointless.

When a Dragon, an Elf, and a Human walk into a bar, the Human is always going to be the punch line.

In politics no permanent friends, no permanent enemies but permanent interest.

We live in a world full of people who are satisfied with pretending to be someone they are not.

She had never known that ice could take on so many shades of blue: sharp lines of indigo like the deepest sea, aquamarine shadows, even the glint of blue-green where the sun struck just so.

It wasn’t like that at all!” argued the Sleuth, looking around for support. “It was a heroic, selfless act of spectacular bravery! I should be worshipped like a god! Immortalised in song!” He struck a dramatic pose, “One man, alone and outnumbered, sacrificed himself for the greater good…”“Immortalised in song, eh?” chuckled Mick. “How about ‘ridiculed in nursery rhymes’?

Science fiction is when we see into the future of our planet, fantasy is when we believe humanity will survive.

The day will come when you need them to respect you, even fear you a little. Laughter is poison to fear.

My creativity keeps me from starving. Humanity keeps my life mundane. Loving secures my love for life, but my imagination keeps me sane.

Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children is a amazing book, I love it

Don’t be hating on my peacock. It’s just not right. - Kye

Always give the rabble something to love and something to hate.

I am Mae Waylander from Halts-Walden, daughter of Robert Wallander, a good man who lost his life saving hers.' I point to Ellen. 'And I am the girl who has saved your brother's life on numerous occasions in the Waerg Woods - who fought off a wood nymph, a psychotic pre-adolescent prophet, and a determined flock of killer birds - only to have your father shoot an arrow in my side because I wouldn't let him kill my stag.

Not as much as it bothers me that you just grabbed me without even trying to warn me first. If you’re trying to undo ages of prejudice, maybe you should start by acting civil.

Linc was so amazed at what he saw and heard, “This is sooo cool. I love this place. This looks way better than a day spotting weird people at Walmart.

Are you familiar with that play?In fact, we're almost living it!

Never grow up!

Beauty and power was commonplace to the dragons as mud and manure to a stable boy.

Time is indifferent of the events and triumphs and tragedies of mankind, and really even, for the most part, of its own inexorable passage.

So why hadn’t he confronted me? Why hadn’t he torn through my lies and forced me to own up that I’d caught him in a Binding? It wasn’t like he could just brush this off. And that smile before he left, as if he’d been pulling my leg to see my reaction…I shook my head. Ryan was certainly providing his fair share of riddles. There was the tiny possibility he was still clueless and was just teasing me, but I doubted anyone could be that naïve. Even him. My mind began to tick over, desperate for an answer. Only one other thing stuck out in his behaviour. Maybe he was going for a fair exchange strategy. He wouldn’t question my secrets, in the hope I wouldn’t question his.Now that was naïve.

In the year 2052, it's not love but hate that unites the world.

In the absence of faith, our dreams will move from feasible aspirations to implausible fantasy.

On some deep, unconscious level, he had always known it to be true. He was an invention, a fictional character. Jacob Lightfoot didn't exist.

Apple Tree Inn, the nightly gathering place of all Winslow residents, and in many ways the core of the town's happiness, always had a warm fire crackling on the hearth and was known for its good cider and company.

Oh get over it Cecilia! You are no longer human. Such decorum doesn’t exist amongst our kind

All that is gold does not glitter.Not all those who wander are lost:The old that is strong does not wither.Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

Lark’s SongThat child who from Diana’s thought is bornA huntress swift, who doth the world adornWith strength and passion worthy of the GreenMay wax, and one day rise to be a queen.That child who in the eye of Phoebus growsOf visage fair, that none would dare opposeMay in her hand hold light and glory too,And to the Light hold sternly staunch and true.That child who with the face of Venus smiles,Will bear a heart of mischief and of wiles,And may in time love’s faithful bonds fulfilWhile bending lesser hearts unto her will.That child who with Athena’s grace doth moveMay to all eyes her worldly wisdom proveAnd make right wise and fulsome use thereofTo measure all who seek to win her love.That child who with grim Circe’s tongue foretells Enmeshing faithful hearts within her spellsBy dint of sly mendacity and guile,All innocence and virtue may defile.That child who by her cunning doth conniveMay by fair Tyche’s fortune wax and thriveAnd come in time to sit upon a throne;Or fail and fall, forsaken and alone.That child may choose to hark to glory’s callAnd shine in splendour, loved by one and all;Or cleave to darkness, hated and reviled:Chance crafts the fate of every fate-touched child.

Not long ago-incredible though it may seem-I heard a clerk of Oxford declare that he 'welcomed' the proximity of mass-production robot factories, and the roar of self-obstructive traffic, because it brought his university into 'contact with real life.' He may have meant that the way men were living and working in the twentieth century was increasing in barbarity at an alarming rate, and that the loud demonstration of this in the streets of Oxford might serve as a warning that it is not possible to preserve for long an oasis of sanity in a desert of unreason by mere fences, without actual offensive action (practical and intellectual). I fear he did not. In any case the expression 'real life' in this context seems to fall short of academic standards. The notion that motor-cars are more 'alive' than, say, centaurs or dragons is curious; that they are more 'real' than, say, horses is pathetically absurd. How real, how startlingly alive is a factory chimney compared with an elm tree: poor obsolete thing, insubstantial dream of an escapist!

Cadavers and spirits are human refuse, and they are absurdly difficult to dispose of properly. When someone dies, a small gang of specialists is required to remove and inter the body in such a way that it can always be located precisely at any time while preventing it from ever appearing again.

When I was your age, television was called books.

A heart filled with light will always be in the middle of darkness. But, once it shines more brightly, there's nothing to be afraid. You, are the one who will conquer it.

Relationships are ropes. Love is a noose. - Durzo Blint

A leprechaun did not just kill off my car in a hailstorm.

Your cowboy persona meshed so well with the dreams Chris has of the torn and silent men she's been rejected by. The fact that you don't return messages turns your answerphone into a blank screen onto which we can project our fantasies.

I am War. I am Death. I am the Unloved God.

You’re starting to look like you did before, and that’s not good because what you looked like was complete shit, so get up and go to bed so I can stop acting like your mother. I can already feel my balls starting to recede. And hey, does it look like I’m growing breasts? - Kye

It wasn't that I wanted to know her now. I wanted to have already known her. I wanted her fears and her desires to have shaped my life. I know this is not love, of course. What it is is a queer feeling of nostalgia for an impossible future, for what can never be. That's fantasy. Love is different.

No,” I said. “I can’t remember doing this.”“Oh,” Rena made and gestured dramatically. “You don’t remember it. And that automatically means you didn’t do it?

Writing historical fiction has many common traits with writing sci-fi or fantasy books. The past is another country - a very different world - and historical readers want to see, smell and touch what it was like living there.

Would you like me to put you out of your misery, before I put you out of your misery?

The creature was there, a curiously shaped creature no doubt, but all loathing had vanished clean out of his mind, so that neither then nor at any other time could he remember it, nor ever understand again why one should quarrel with an animal for having more legs or eyes than oneself.

I believe in the simple things--the classic beginning of once upon a time, that good conquers evil in the end, fantasy and fate. My life is that of wondrous enchantment, a place of endless possibilities and dreams, where inspiration is found in the oddest of places. I aspire to inspire, and someday I will change the world,

Ryan, if you abandon me here, I will have no choice but to tell your father,” Navinka cut in. “You don’t want Aronzo and his men prowling after you again.” She gave a stretch. “I can inform Lord Glenford we are joining my father in Dragonvale. The East Pass is a safe route. He will not insist on sending a further escort.” She flashed a deadly smile. “I can make your life easier or more difficult. I leave the choice to you.

He is indeed the true enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart.

A Baba Yaga never breaks a promise. Legs, yes. Hearts, occasionally. But never a promise.

Never practice magic when you're drunk.

The second wolf dove straight into the free platter. Fibres of flesh ripped apart with the same terrible tearing sound of sacking stretched and broken. Red sprayed. Limbs flailed. The bloody gurgle of a scream tore from Logan’s throat as he struggled against gnashing teeth. The same slow motion bubble slotted over Violet’s head, vacuuming the sound. Time seemed to ripple around her. Her extra senses reached out, screaming as they felt Logan’s existence fray. She moved without consideration, Simon close on her heels, his noises numb to her brain.

I brooded over it. If it had been any other dream, I would have ignored it. But it was one of those dreams. One of those purple dreams. One of those dreams that had an unusual tendency to come true.

Well did the traveler know those garden lands that lie betwixt the wood of the Cerenerian Sea, and blithely did he follow the singing river Oukranos that marked his course. The sun rose higher over gentle slopes of grove and lawn, and heightened the colors of the thousand flowers that starred each knoll and dangle. A blessed haze lies upon all this region, wherein is held a little more of the sunlight than other places hold, and a little more of the summer's humming music of birds and bees; so that men walk through it as through a faery place, and feel greater joy and wonder than they ever afterward remember.

Gavin scratched his head, idly wondering what his father would tell him right about then. Probably steal the slave and run. Father's solution was always to steal and run. But he had a job to finish.t"All right," he said finally, "here's what we'll do. We'll pretend this night didn't happen." tThat earned another sarcastic look.

I had become an arrow of sound aimed at the most terrible creature in the city.

Time will teach you more lessons than I ever can.

A man inherited a field in which was an accumulation of old stone, part of an older hall. Of the old stone some had already been used in building the house in which he actually lived, not far from the old house of his fathers. Of the rest he took some and built a tower. But his friends coming perceived at once (without troubling to climb the steps) that these stones had formerly belonged to a more ancient building. So they pushed the tower over, with no little labour, and in order to look for hidden carvings and inscriptions, or to discover whence the man's distant forefathers had obtained their building material. Some suspecting a deposit of coal under the soil began to dig for it, and forgot even the stones. They all said: 'This tower is most interesting.' But they also said (after pushing it over): 'What a muddle it is in!' And even the man's own descendants, who might have been expected to consider what he had been about, were heard to murmur: 'He is such an odd fellow! Imagine using these old stones just to build a nonsensical tower! Why did not he restore the old house? he had no sense of proportion.' But from the top of that tower the man had been able to look out upon the sea.

Joys circular fulfillment was so persistent, when I was weak it gave me strength.