Na Fantasy Quotes

Respect earned through fear instead of deeds, was not truly respect.

Everyone is a criminal! We are beset on all sides by antirevolutionary forces. Naturally, then, humans fall into three categories: the criminal, the not-yet-criminal, and the not-yet-caught.

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

When he kisses me again, the last part of me that could stand myself dies.

No hard feelings about that time in the Crucible when you mixed my salts and I was nearly blind for a day. No. No, really, drink up!

I figured even the most jaded and cynical inhabitant might report a bloody girl in a party dress carrying a severed head by its hair.

It is not always what we do, Sa'han, but who we love that makes us who we are. Quen

But this was no ordinary chicken. This chicken was evil manifest.

But leave us some magic in the world. Leave us some mystery to enjoy.

Small children believe themselves to be gods, or some of them do, and they can only be satisfied when the rest of the world goes along with their way of seeing things.

I have to save the world tomorrow, and I don't even know what I'm going to wear yet.--Rachel Morgan

The pendulum swings between Light and Darkness

You're dead, son. Cheer is contraindicated.

Struck by lightning! Struck by lightning!

There wasn't a colloquial phrase, or curse, that went something like, "May your day be full of angry dragons" or, "May every dragon you meet today be pissed off." But, there should have been.

I can't wait to get my memory back. It sounds like I am a really cool person

In real life I do violence, but for psychic stuff I do other things better.

ARE YOU CRAZY?" I ASKED. He gave me the same wordless look he always did when I asked that question.

For the way loneliness is worse when you return to it after a reprieve—like the soul’s version of putting on a wet bathing suit, clammy and miserable.

This is the real magic of fantasy fiction: it can feed souls and change lives.

Simon to die. Jace to live. Jonathon to retune. And you Valentine's daughter, to be the catalist of it all.

Authors must spend months, years making fantasy believable in a single work while reality runs rampant and complete chaos elsewhere.

Monsters almost always are culture's way of working out their fears.

Frequent friction when love becomes political.

So you want me to go to a human orgy, where I will not be welcome, and you want us to leave before I get to enjoy myself? ~Eric Northman

If the president and the Vice President dies who becomes President" "Thats easy Arnold Swartzanager

Big writers become a kind of shared climate.

The treacherous are ever distrustful.

Aye, you're neither one thing nor yet quite t'other. Pity, but there 'tis.

You know children, always playing with the forces of darkness.

Death should take more care with his paperwork.

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

My father always said that government is like watching another man piss in your boot. Someone feels better but it certainly isn't you.

Do the children who prefer books set in the real, ordinary, workaday world ever read as obsessively as those who would much rather be transported into other worlds entirely?

When I break into the clearing, she's on the ground, hopelessly entangled in a net. She just has the time to reach her hand through the mesh and say my name before the spear enters her body.

Sylvie had an amazing life, but she didn't get to live it very often.

Who would you be but who you are?

Impulsive passion please set me free.

Humanity's a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there.

One minute the teacher was talking about the Civil War. And the next minute he was gone. There. Gone. No 'poof.' No flash of light. No explosion.

Closed in a room, my imagination becomes the universe, and the rest of the world is missing out.

Once upon a time – for that is how all stories should begin – there was a boy who lost his mother.

Consequences lost all purchase when they became mad. And desperation, when pressed beyond anguish, became narcotic.

It is a fool of a shepherd who culls his dogs.

We cannot know the future. All we can do is face it bravely. We should take heed of those we love and respect. But in the end, we make every decision alone.

All that he had of her was his memory, where he held every moment, every single moment that she had been his. That was all he had, to keep out the loneliness.

This book had two authors, and they were both the same person.

How dare the embodiment of her worst nightmare come packaged as her hottest fantasy?

Where do you get dreams like this?

Any romantic feelings for a 12-year-old are like entering into a fantasy world.