Fantasy Quotes - Page 9

Tell me, Peppone, what other talents do you have besides erasing undesirables?”t“I enjoy a fair bit of sneaking, sir. I also enjoy pilfering and killing as a professional courtesy.”t“What a delightfully horrid urchin you are.”t“Thank you, sir.

Lend me your wings, bird. I'll spread them and fly on the thermals.

Romance is finding your fantasy in people who don't have it.

The fantastic is in complicity with the realist model, in the claims that realism makes to represent the true face of reality. It points to the gaps and inadequacies of realism, but does not question the legitimacy of its claims to represent reality. The concept of “suspension of disbelief', that beloved criterion of positivist criticism supposedly serving to establish the legitimacy of the fantastic, confirms this hegemony.

You are one of us, one of those who knows without knowing, and one who will live and die in dreams that blend with this world. No, I am no gypsy, just one who has read a good many books. It is only through reading those great jewels of wisdom that one may see a story in a glint of sunlight, an epic unfold within one’s eyes. There are books all around us. Yet it takes reading a good many books by we mortals to be able to see them.

All real fantasy is serious. Only faked fantasy is not serious. That is why it is so wrong to impose faked fantasy on children....

When his dead father touched his hand, Athson almost dropped the arrow.

The next morning, boom! She found herself waking in bed next to the handsome, rogue-supporting character of her favourite novel. Out of the blue, Mary Sue was inside the #1 bestseller, epic fantasy novel ever written.

Why do I feel like this is our destiny. There must be a reason why we have become our characters.

What is fantasy? On one level, of course, it is a game: a pure pretense with no ulterior motive whatever. It is one child saying to another child, “Let’s be dragons,” and then they’re dragons for an hour or two. It is escapism of the most admirable kind—the game played for the game’s sake. On another level, it is still a game, but a game played for very high stakes. Seen thus, as art, not spontaneous play, its affinity is not with daydream, but with dream. It is a different approach to reality, an alternative technique for apprehending and coping with existence. It is not antirational but pararational; not realistic, but surrealistic, superrealistic, a heightening of reality. In Freud’s terminology, it employs primary, not secondary process thinking. It employs archetypes, which, Jung warned us, are dangerous things. Dragons are more dangerous, and a good deal commoner, than bears. Fantasy is nearer to poetry, to mysticism, and to insanity than naturalistic fiction is. It is a real wilderness, and those who go there should not feel too safe. And their guides, the writers of fantasy, should take their responsibilities seriously.

Memories sharp enough to cut himself on - the smells, the sounds, the feel of the air on his skin, the desperate hope and mad anger.

With the fading of the final notes the saxophone player turns to me. Its baleful, otherworldly gaze bores into my soul. It lowers its instrument to the disc and extends a podgy, grey hand to point at me. It looms closer, its head expanding, arm elongating. A clammy digit brushes the tip of my nose and a tingling numbness spreads over my face like an ice-cold spider web. tA voice like the rustle of dried leaves whispers inside my head: “Forever…” The last syllable stretches, just like my grandfather’s dying breath.tAnd the beady, black orbs are no longer eyes but deep, obsidian pits…

I don’t need another ‘adversity builds character’ speech, Darren. That man is a chauvinistic pig. Where’s your adversity?”Darren raised a brow. “I’m looking at it.

Now I am their sword. And I do not forgive. I do not forget. So let him lead me onto his shuttle. Let him think he owns me. Let him welcome into his house, so I might burn it down. But then his daughter takes my hand, and I feel all the lies fall heavy on my shoulders. They say a kingdom divided against itself cannot stand. They made no mention of the heart.

Death, child. It’s beckoning us both, my brother and I.

You’re too much of a bitch to go gently into that good night.”“You should put that on a greeting card.

Be careful mi amor, don't hurt anyone this time.

It takes real planning to organize this kind of chaos.

I stare at the long, almost elegant thinness of the wrist bone jutting out from a heap of flesh and cloth. All that separates us, that poor woman and me, is an accident of birth.

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

And so the lion fell in love with the lamb. what a stupid lamb. what a sick, masochistic lion.

So these are the fresh meat, eh?” Zuko smirked. I cringed when he said fresh meat. How demeaning. “Well, I don’t know how well all of you can fight. So I’ll find out the quickest and simplest way.” He raised a scarred arm and pointed it at all of us, “ATTACK THE FRESH MEAT!

Knowing all the languages in the world could help you to really understand all the jokes you can hear... from my future Kids' Funny Business.

You have to earn it.' Vhalla didn't know what else to say. She had trusted him, to lead her, to teach her, and he broke that trust. It wasn't as though it was something she could simply start again on command.

Can I borrow a cup of your face...?!

I’m in a secret underground hideout of a group of monster hunters, filled with magical totems, brass monkeys that move and enough firepower to take over a small country.

Nothing is lost. . .Everything is transformed.

If someday you should ever think of me and miss me, know in your heart that I'd want you to find me once again. No matter how distant in time or space... FIND ME.

Still round the corner there may wait, A new road or a secret gate.

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

When I was her age," Munro said to Eilidh, "I was chasing frogs."Oron Chuckled. "When I was your age, I was chasing frogs. Come. We have things to discuss.

Although nobody could ever know about our friendship, that wasn’t going to stop us from being together.

Hurricanes couldn’t remove you from my mind. You’re my world and I’m incapable of not loving you.

He strained his ears, and the darkness felt heavier than before. Oppressive.“We’re hungry.” That came from behind him.“They smell tasty,” a voice to his left hissed.“I don’t like this,” Andrew said, feeling like the world around them was spinning with voices, taunting, echoing them.“I don’t like this,” a voice parroted. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this. I don’t like this.

I am as you say a "skeleton" and i have been for quite a while

And so life went on, as it always will.It had taken an awful lot to get there, for no victory comes without hardship and sacrifice.But then, those whom we hold so dear, that we fight so hard to protect, and suffer so greatly for, are always worth it in the end.

None of this was what held Yeva's gaze. Because in the bottom of the valley, straddling the river nestled in the foothills, was a castle.

My stomach knotted up as heat surged through me. Why did I feel like melting every time I saw him, or heard him talk? “Stop that right now.” I blushed. “I know what you’re doing, Jace, and it’s not going to work.”Jace and Charlie.

Man, Sub-creator, the refracted Lightthrough whom is splintered from a single Whiteto many hues, and endlessly combinedin living shapes that move from mind to mind.

What kind of person do you wish to be? A part of those who take action, who try the hardest, or of those who go with the flow?

I have claimed that Escape is one of the main functions of fairy-stories, and since I do not disapprove of them, it is plain that I do not accept the tone of scorn or pity with which 'Escape' is now so often used. Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls?

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

The cave sits tucked deep within the mass of rocks that sprout like moles from the forest floor.

Walking out into the night with a water fey was all kinds of stupid. Heck, Kelpies eat people. They may not play with their food as creatively as the Each Uisge, but dead is dead.

We've got an unbeatable team."- Sauron

Words,' he said, 'is oh such a twitch-tickling problem to me all my life.

And Mother does not hate her; actually, she fears Damaya. Is there a difference? Maybe.

Maybe at the very bottom of it... I really don't like God. You know, it's silly to say I don't like God because I don't believe in God, but in the same sense that I don't like Iago, or the Reverend Slope or any of the other villains of literature, the god of traditional Judaism and Christianity and Islam seems to me a terrible character. He's a god who will... who obsessed the degree to which people worship him and anxious to punish with the most awful torments those who don't worship him in the right way. Now I realise that many people don't believe in that any more who call themselves Muslims or Jews or Christians, but that is the traditional God and he's a terrible character. I don't like him.

Zakath stared at the floor. 'I suddenly feel very helpless,' he admitted, 'and I don't like the feeling. I've been rather effectively dethroned, you know. This morning I was the Emperor of the largest nation on earth; this afternoon, I'm going to be a vagabond.'You might find it refreshing,' Silk told him lightly.Shut up, Kheldar,' Zakath said almost absently. He looked back at Polgara. 'You know something rather peculiar?'What's that?'Even if I hadn't given my word, I'd still have to go to Kell. It's almost like a compulsion. I feel as if I'm being driven, and my driver is a blindfolded girl who's hardly more than a child.'There are rewards,' she told him.Such as what?'Who knows? Happiness, perhaps.'He laughed ironically. 'Happiness has never been a driving ambition of mine, Lady Polgara, not for a long time now.'You may have to accept it anyway,' She smiled. 'We aren't allowed to choose our rewards any more than we are our tasks. Those decisions are made for us.

Go find your own hiding spot!” I hissed. “The seat is not wide enough to hold me and that whale you call a nightgown.” Also, we were better off if whoever was coming caught one of us – and by one of us, I meant Rose.

Trust and faith have left you.” “He will help guide you back to them.” “Blessings to you on your journey.

He saw trust. Complete trust. It was a gift, a precious one, and it humbled him. I've got you, Emeline. I will always be with you.Dragomire to Emeline, Dark Legacy, Dark #27

They were rebellious through their artistic expression and their uplifting spirits

My Manager forced me to put my beetle in my own ear, a clear waste and an act that gave me nightmares: of a burning city through which giant carnivorous lizards prowled, eating survivors off of balconies. In one particularly vivid moment, I stood on a ledge as the jaws closed in, heat-swept, and tinged with the smell of rotting flesh. Beetles intended for the tough, tight minds of children should not be used by adults. We still remember a kinder, gentler world.

Your embrace feels like slipping the key in the front door.

Lettie shrugged. “Nobody actually looks like what they really are on the inside. You don’t. I don’t. People are much more complicated than that. It’s true of everybody.

I'd like to emphasize that when a reader finishes a great novel, he will immediately begin looking for another. If someone loves your book, it increases the chance that he or she will look at mine. So there is no competition between writers. Another writer's success helps build a larger readership for all of us.

Thou, my slave,As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant,And for thou wast a spirit too delicateTo act her earthy and abhorred commands,Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,By help of her more potent ministersAnd in her most unmitigable rage,Into a cloven pine, within which riftImprisoned thou didst painfully remainA dozen years; within which space she diedAnd left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groansAs fast as mill wheels strike.

Books are the only things worth stealing.

She was every inch the skeletal goddess that had been promised by the bones of her feet.