All Quotes By Tag: Fantasy

“Vengeance ought to be spoken through gritted teeth, spittle flying, the cords of one’s soul so entangled in it that you can’t let it go, even if you try. If you feel it–if you really feel it–then you speak it like it’s a still-beating heart clenched in your fist and there’s blood running down your arm, dripping off your elbow, and you can’t let go.”

“One cannot expect to travel far without faith.”

“They are ever-changing. They are unlike immortals who stay young and beautiful forever—who have time under their control. Humans, they only have a few years to live, and yet there is beauty in the way time controls them.”

“If they love you for anything, it will be for your beauty.”

“The same virtues, in the end, the same virtue (love), are required throughout, and fantasy (self) can prevent us from seeing a blade of grass just as it can prevent us from seeing another person. An increasing awareness of ‘goods’ and the attempt (usually only partially successful) to attend to them purely, without self, brings with it an increasing awareness of the unity and interdependence of the moral world. One-seeking intelligence is the image of faith.”

“Maybe one did have to be smart in order to kill.”

“Death. It was something I had to think about once. Weird, right? Strange that death was ever an inevitable end, but it wasn’t anymore. Not really. I eluded it. Tricked it. It was an odd concept—the world aged, moved forward, yet I . . . didn’t.”

“The surge of his ardour swept through him in climatic release, filling her womb with his final, mortal sowing.”

“That kind of imagination is why we’re not dead.”

“The moon people do not eat by swallowing food but by smelling it. Their money is poetry – actual poems, written out on pieces of paper whose value is determined by the worth of the poem itself.”

“The townspeople took the prince for deadWhen he never returned with the dragon’s headWhen with her, he stayedShe thought he’d be too afraidBut he loved her too much instead.”

“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.”

“So, we are searching for some form of difficult, uncooperative creature that apparently can change shapes and does not wish to be found?”

“How do magical beings celebrate?” Killian was curious to know. “Music, food, wine, ale, dancing, frivolity, and merriment in many forms.” Lugh grinned again. “So entirely the same as in the human realm?” Killian smiled back at the god. “Well, with a bit of magic thrown in for good measure.”

“Killian O’Brien, would I truly do anything to damage your diddler after I’ve only just healed it?”