Fiction Quotes - Page 26

He'd never known he had so much fight in him. Never known he could be capable of so much... He was going to change the world.

It's just like an alcoholic to think he's doing the Zombie Apocalypse wrong.

To write you dreams of fantasy, is to create fantasy in another's dreams.

I wonder, what kind of life would I have had if it hadn’t been for my mother’s tea-and-cookie parties? Perhaps it’s because of them that I’ve never thought of women as my enemies, as territories I have to conquer, but always as allies and friends - which I believe is the reason why they were friendly to me in turn. I’ve never met those she-devils you hear about: they must be too busy with those men who look upon women as a fortress they have to attack, lay waste and left in ruins.

Shared emotions experienced by two souls,empathy on unequivocal level which Davey believed would change entire species of mankind if only secret of empathy could be telepathically shared with humanity,one soul after another, until every soul understood true meaning of love.

Ô, wine!, the truth-serum so potent that all those who wish to live happy lives should abstain from drinking it entirely!... except of course when they are alone.

I have inflammation of the imagination.

Darling, in this family we don't call anyone a novelist who has not written more books than Jane Austen.

It was a fictional story, but like any good fiction, without the need to adjust or conceal the truth, it actually might bethe greatest expression of truth.

The door wasn’t closing. Shiloh’s spirit opened up as she considered the possibilities.

He had had no experience in asking for a job with a big organization, and Mr. Dilling was making him aware of what a fine art it was--if you couldn't run a machine. A duel was under way.

Sometimes fiction is more easily understood than true events. Reality is often pathetic.

Real life doesn't grant us many of the more than useful possibilities people can come out with in fiction.

While what I write is always largely consistent with the records that remain I freely admit that where historical fact proves a barrier to invention, I simply move a detail a little one way or another.

Once upon a time there was a young lady who lived in a marsh, and her name was Poison.

Was love ever easy for anyone? If less complicated, would this make it less appreciated? Perhaps love was difficult for good reason. Perhaps everything on God’s green earth was the result of a flawless plan, even that which seemed most muddled.

...all I knew were novels. It gave me pause, for a moment, that all my reference points were fiction, that all my narratives were lies.

I think fiction allows us to sit for a while with people we would rather not meet.

Sabrina Thomas clutched the leather-bound notebook to her chest and tried not to be impatient as the elevator in the south tower of Texas Hospital near downtown Dallas stopped once again on its climb to the eighteenth and top floor. But it was difficult.Dr. Cade Mathis, the bane of her existence, would reach Mrs. Ward’s room first and then there’d be hell to pay. Sabrina jabbed the button to close the doors as soon as the last person stepped onto the already crowded elevator.

I do love you. I love you enough to accept who you are. Why can’t I received the same feeling in return?”-Ariel

The simplicity of youth is mesmerizing to me. Maybe because I didn't know it long enough."London Drake"They All fall down

All it takes, is one leap of faith.

Friendship isn't always sunnyside up.

In the Ottoman times, there were itinerant storytellers called "meddah. " They would go to coffee houses, where they would tell a story in front of an audience, often improvising. With each new person in the story, the meddah would change his voice, impersonating that character. Everybody could go and listen, you know ordinary people, even the sultan, Muslims and non-Muslims. Stories cut across all boundaries. Like "The Tales of Nasreddin Hodja," which were very popular throughout the Middle East, North Africa, the Balkans and Asia. Today, stories continue to transcend borders

You scared the crap out of me,” I shove his bare chest with a growl. “Wasthat you at the front door?”“Ya think?” He fires back with a raise of his eyebrows, taking hold of my armagain, as he practically drags me back toward the front entry.“Did it occur to you to say something?” I shoot back with a scowl. “I thoughtyou were some kind of psychopath.” My frown deepens, as I consider whether he might in fact be a psychopath.

It doesn’t matter what other people think when you’re right - John Cleaver

Like I’ve told you before, Beverly, I don’t care where we live as long as we’re together.” Vance... "The Elder Effect

It was too lonely to be heaven, and there wouldn't be stars in hell.

A ray of light made a rainbow through the mist. [His] words had given her a small glimmer of hope — the kind of hope she thought had disappeared from her life forever.

Entering the foyer, Royale already decided that he would thank Shake once more for being by his side at Keena’s recital. But she stunned him by eagerly waiting for him just like old times—on her knees wearing only a collar and a leash.

Can you even have human nature if you don’t have the capacity to feel?” I ask. “Do you mean on some kind of existentialist ‘what are we if not the things we feel’ kind of way?” I don’t know what he means by existentialist. I say as much. He laughs. I entertain the idea of stabbing him for several minutes.

When I first submerged my feet into frigid water, they hurt so badly I yanked them out again. I persisted, dunking them for longer and longer periods, until the cold finally blistered.

In the end, fiction is the craft of telling truth through lies.

She suddenly felt herself gasping for air, as if she’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe. She rocked back in her chair and nearly fell over, then slumped against the green-covered table. The bowl fell from her fingers, shattering at her feet, broken glass scattering everywhere.

I'm not the same person I was before, and I am deathly afraid I will never be her again...

She was not in the body of a young woman but just as I remembered her: a little toddler with a beautiful smile. She reached out with her small hand, and I gripped her tiny fingers as I let go of the pain and sank deeper into the lake.

A friendship like theirs was hard to come by, and when such a thing is found, it is often even harder to hold on to.But, as so few come to learn, absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.

Fiction books give the reader a chance to step away from their own reality and into the shoes of the characters, and they show you a world that isn't the one you already know. And sometimes the story's not so different from your own, and it lets you get closer to your own feelings.

Never underestimate what teens can understand or do. They're smart, creative, and fresh-minded. I wish I was one.

Without stories, we’d have even more trouble recognizing what’s real.

Here the sky is wrapped in silk. The breathings of so many men and animals, and the smoke of your coal, and the fog, oh, it is too much. The Paris sky is perfect. A man must see clearly, to see something new.

With one perfect kiss on one perfect English summer afternoon, we understand the meaning of all the colors of every rainbow, forevermore.

The first time Kiya met Hapi was over a year ago. On that day, she was at the temple - not to sell pigeons and bread as usual, but to pray and offer sacrifices on the altar of Horus - the God of protection.

What is so addictive about fiction is that it is the one reliable place in which we can apprehend and participate in - fully understand - the inward world of another person.

I've come to believe that all my past failure and frustration were actually laying the foundation for the understandings that have created the new level of living in me and now I enjoy ever bit of my life and hope best for rest...something beyond lovelines from Love Vs Destiny...

You ever play that game seven minutes in heaven, baby? Because we're about to play it.

It was his experience that life worked under the same guidelines as a capitalistic society. In order to get what you wanted, it was usually necessary to give up something in return. Sometimes gaining what you defined as everything meant losing what you most needed.

Pull back the curtain and jump down the rabbit hole.

We share a bond. We do everything together. We have a piece of strong, invisible thread connecting us. It’s indestructible – it can never be broken. The thread is the key item that links us together. We understand each other.

Tell a story in lesser and simpler words.

And in the absence of even a hint of an exchange, Joaquin spun around and lunged at Ross, grabbed him by the throat, and knocked him down. With dry, brittle leaves and debris suddenly thrust upward, the two were covered in a dark, hazy hell as they pursued a violent struggle for what seemed like an eternity. As he gained his footing, Ross shot back with a punch to Joaquin’s head followed by several body punches. Joaquin stumbled backward and fell giving Ross those precious, few seconds required for escape.

Does bad luck come in 3's...or is it multiples of 3?

I know what you’re doing,” he whispered to Raphael, whose movements only became more fervent, and the thought slipped from the boy’s mind so that he became dazed and undone with pleasure, staring up at the ceiling, watching as it blurred and became indistinct, and he felt the rising rush of pleasure, until he cried out in a sharp gasp.And the pleasure went on and on, as it did, unbearably, until either Raphael took pity on him, or he pushed his Genitor away. Whichever it was, the pleasure that was leaking into pain, stopped, and he was lifted and laid down on the stone, cold and hard under his spine, and Raphael was bent over him, kissing up this time, up to his lips, flicking his tongue at them, and whispering: “Don’t question my love for you. Ever again.

…My eyes were wet, tears waiting to drop from my eyes and heart started to sob. The words from Jiya pushed me on my back foot…”Source: 'The Unpredictable Heart - You may be a Victim

Identity politics divides us; fiction connects. One is interested in sweeping generalizations, the other in nuances. One draws boundaries, the other recognizes no frontiers. Identity politics is made of solid bricks; fiction is flowing water.

No man's advice can change you unless you speak to yourself. Bible school or seminars can't change you, going to church can't change you except you decide to change.Psalm 139:23 - 24

She reached forward and lifted her uncle up into her arms. He was still too weak to resist, and she comforted him with a stroke of her fingers through his greying hair, softly kissing his lips, tasting the blood with a shiver of anticipation, and moving her kisses to his cheek, the line of his jaw, the crook of his neck where his pulse thundered to push the shadowy blood to its destinations.“Know that, when I do this, I’m doing it, to ease your suffering,” she whispered, lips pressed to his skin, her fangs pressing behind them hungrily.

If she spoke, she would tell him the truth: she was not okay at all, but horribly empty, now that she knew what it was like to be filled.

...don’t discount intuition. It holds more wisdom than technology can ever afford

Is there anything more plausible than a second hand? And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time's malleability. Some emotions speed it up, others slow it down; occasionally, it seems to go missing--until the eventual point when it really does go missing, never to return.