Fiction Quotes - Page 25

Soon we could barely recognize them. They were taller than we were, and heavier. They were loud beyond belief. I feel like a duck that's hatched goose's eggs.

Julie Otsuka

Do you want the truth or fiction?

Jon Chopan

She paused in the doorway, tipping her head to consider Brittany, who only glared. "You're right. I think most girls don't look like the tooth fairy dresses them every day.

Wendy Knight

As a citizen of the world, it’s my instinct to keep the fallen and the suffering in my thoughts... You see, in my mind there is logic to it: do no harm, prevent harm, help, support, care for the harmed, face the harmer. My stupid idealist conscience considers sympathy, not pity, at its worst, the most basic and the least negotiable civil duty. Of course as a citizen of the world, I should strive to do more. That said, I am only a man and so I often do the least.

Asaad Almohammad

But you became self-aware. Somehow, you began to hear the Narrator’s voice. You realised that you were a character in a story. You tried to fight. These actions have disrupted the flow of fiction.

Dylan Randall Wong En Lai

Cheers went up around the decks as the Dolphins oars began to move as one in and out shifting and cutting away at the sea beneath, SICANIA RISING

Daniel P Buckley

Hagnon fixes a value to everything. It occurs to Alexander that the man would probably sell his mother for an obol and consider it a deal.

Eleanor Herman

Next she turned the gun upward and thrust the muzzle into her mouth. Now it was aimed directly at her cerebrum-- the gray labyrinth where consciousness resided.

Haruki Murakami

Computer Coding is a life skill for this generation.

Tamara Zentic MS

We had been with the men, we had let them do what they wanted. But they would never know the parts of ourselves that we hid from them - they would never sense the lack or even know there was something more they should be looking for.

Emma Cline

Boney freckled knees pressed into bits of bark and stone, refusing to feel any more pain.Her faded t-shirt hugged her protruding ribs as she held on, hunched in silence.A lone tear followed the lumpy tracks down her cheek, jumped from her quivering jaw onto a thirsty browned leaf with a thunderous plop.Then the screen door squeaked open and she took flight.Crispy twigs snapped beneath her bare feet as she ran deeper and deeper into the woods behind the house. She heard him rumbling and calling her name, his voice fueling her tired muscles to go faster, to survive.He knew her path by now. He was ready for the hunt.The clanging unbuckled belt boomed in her ears as he gained on her.The woods were thin this time of year, not much to hide behind. If she couldn’t outrun him, up she would go.Young trees teased her in this direction, so she moved east towards the evergreens.Hunger and hurt left her no choice, she had to stop running soon.She grabbed the first tree with a branch low enough to reach, and up she went.The pine trees were taller here, older, but the branches were too far apart for her to reach. She chose the wrong tree.His footsteps pounded close by.She stood as tall as her little legs could, her bloodied fingers reaching, stretching, to no avail. A cry of defeat slipped from her lips, a knowing laugh barked from his.She would pay for this dearly. She didn’t know whether the price was more than she could bear. Her eyes closed, her next breath came out as Please, and an inky hand reached down from the lush needles above, wound its many fingers around hers, and pulled her up.Another hand, then another, grabbing her arms, her legs, firmly but gently, pulling her up, up, up. The rush of green pine needles and black limbs blurred together, then a flash of cobalt blue fluttered by, heading down.She looked beyond her dangling bare feet to see a flock of peculiar birds settle on the branches below her, their glossy feathers flickered at once and changed to the same greens and grays of the tree they perched upon, camouflaging her ascension.Her father’s footsteps below came to a stomping end, and she knew he was listening for her. Tracking her, trapping her, like he did the other beasts of the forest.He called her name once, twice. The third time’s tone not quite as friendly.The familiar slide–click sound of him readying his gun made her flinch before he had his chance to shoot at the sky. A warning. He wasn’t done with her.His feet crunched in circles around the tree, eventually heading back home.Finally, she exhaled and looked up. Dozens of golden-eyed creatures surrounded her from above. Covered in indigo pelts, with long limbs tipped with mint-colored claws, they seemed to move as one, like a heartbeat. As if they shared a pulse, a train of thought, a common sense.“Thank you,” she whispered, and the beasts moved in a wave to carefully place her on a thick branch.

Kim Bongiorno

You're supposed to make your child feel like you want them. No matter what. Even if you're tired, or you're stressed, or you have a fucking photo shoot, or you move across the world, or you haven't gotten a full night's sleep. You do whatever you can to make them feel like the only thing you want in the world is to be by their side, even if you can't.

Nic Joseph

The shadowy edge between normal and paranormal is more than ILLUSORY...

Sahara Sanders

The fiction writer is an observer, first, last, and always, but he cannot be an adequate observer unless he is free from uncertainty about what he sees. Those who have no absolute values cannot let the relative remain merely relative; they are always raising it to the level of the absolute. The Catholic fiction writer is entirely free to observe. He feels no call to take on the duties of God or to create a new universe. He feels perfectly free to look at the one we already have and to show exactly what he sees.

Flannery O'Connor

If something unusual is what you really see and really feel, and if that’s what does happen to you in your real life, how is THAT called FICTION? One simple reason... that it’s the only way the society would agree to call it “normal,” based on the current level of development of their mentality.

Sahara Sanders

Life has to end," she said. "Love doesn't.

Mitch Albom

You may ask, why not simply call this literature Christian? Unfortunately, the word Christian is no longer reliable. It has come to mean anyone with a golden heart. And a golden heart would be a positive interference in the writing of fiction.

Flannery O'Connor

Empires come and go. Chanterelles are timeless

Sylvain de Ville-Amois

Everything, really, has this quality of sacredness, but we can desecrate it at a touch. How strange man is! His touch defiles and yet he contains the source of miracles.

Yukio Mishima

We do not claim that the portrait we are making is the whole truth, only that it is a resemblance.

Victor Hugo

Storylines from fiction always seem inherently improbable to occur in real life, yet when we read them we are happy to suspend our disbelief, which may simply suggest that in our everyday lives we have an irrational craving for certainty and probability.

Guy Fraser-Sampson

As regards plots I find real life no help at all. Real life seems to have no plots. And as I think a plot desirable and almost necessary, I have this extra grudge against real life. But I think there are signs that strange things happen, though they do not emerge

Ivy Compton-Burnett

Waves gently caress the sand as they glide along the shore. Sunlight fills the sky; rocks float along the water and make waves that glisten as they ripple. I’m supposed to be happy but I’m not, it’s raining, and only I can see it.... It’s raining, and only I can see it”Excerpt From: Daniel Sean Campbell. “Josh Harper and The Enemy of Destiny.

Daniel Sean Campbell

At home you could depend on your parents, but in America you are on your own and should make as many friends as you can . . . You don't know who may hold out a helpful hand in your hour of need.

Ha Jin

Life is short break the rules.forgive quickly, kiss slowly love truly. Laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that makes you smile...

Juvy Ann

All story fiction is both truth that happens and never happens. Fiction is always about humanity, even if no subject is humanitarian or even human.

Richard Bunning

String of fate brings two people together and it is love's job to keep them there.

Juvy Ann

Once upon a time I thought I could change stories, make them go the way I wanted, instead of where they actually went.

April Genevieve Tucholke

My eyes have always been advertisements for an early death.

David Wojnarowicz

The writer has no rights at all except those he forges for himself inside his own work. We have become so flooded with sorry fiction based on unearned liberties, or on the notion that fiction must represent the typical, that in the public mind the deeper kinds of realism are less and less understandable.

Flannery O'Connor

I’ve been told that I cannot change shit, so I might as well stop torturing myself. My emotions are ridiculed and branded as childish. I have been told that the world has given up on my people. I have been told, and realise that on many occasions, I myself am viewed as an outcast by some of those suffering. I’ve been confronted and my answer is always the same: I care even in my most fucked-up moments. I care even when gates of shit pour open to drown me; I care because I am a citizen of the world.

Asaad Almohammad

For I’m neither a submitter nor a hating retaliator, I acknowledge the boundaries of my existence; yet, I still care. I care regardless of the way they choose to reduce me to the brand that is the birthmark of the accident of my conception. I care less about what that brand signifies in terms of my character, potential, and intentions. For the harmed I care. For the real victims. It’s the most basic of my mandatory civil duties. Only in caring, am I a citizen of the world.

Asaad Almohammad

For some reason, notwithstanding the alienation and utter rejection, I consider myself a global citizen. They say misery calls for company and I’ve always been a man of funerals. The companion of the misfortunate, until they are not!

Asaad Almohammad

As a citizen of the world, it’s my instinct to keep the fallen and the suffering in my thoughts. The human brain fascinates me; its limitless bounds of empathy. You see, in my mind there is logic to it: do no harm, prevent harm, help, support, care for the harmed, face the harmer. My stupid idealist conscience considers sympathy, not pity, at its worst, the most basic and the least negotiable civil duty. Of course as a citizen of the world, I should strive to do more. That said, I am only a man and so I often do the least.

Asaad Almohammad

Poor girls. The world fattens them on the promise of love. How badly they need it, and how little most of them will ever get. The treacled pop songs, the dresses described in the catalogs with words like 'sunset' and 'Paris'. Then the dreams are taken away with such violent force; the hand wrenching the buttons of the jeans, nobody looking at the man shouting at his girlfriend on the bus.

Emma Cline

Each time I discovered a potential link between one character’s story and another’s, several more connections would reveal themselves, like a beautiful, complex web spinning itself.

Richard Scarsbrook

It's hard. Being 15, 16, 17. You get so angry. You want to do something with that anger. I guess try to find some other way to let it out. Don't kill people. Don't kill yourself. Let yourself grow up a little. Then you might start to think differently about things. You might get new opportunities to do something with your life that you never thought possible as a teenager." -- Thomas Harvey from the upcoming novel, "Nikki White: Polar Extremes" (Nikki, #3)

Jack Chaucer

Marian was suddenly overcome by an appalling crippling panic. She was very frightened at the idea of arriving. But it was more than that. She feared the rocks and the cliffs and the grotesque dolmen and the ancient secret things. Her two companions seemed no longer reassuring but dreadfully alien and even sinister. She felt, for the first time in her life, completely isolated and in danger. She became in an instant almost faint with terror.She said, as a cry for help, ‘I’m feeling terribly nervous’.‘I know you are,’ said Scottow.(…)Marian was appalled at the sudden quietness. But the insane panic had left her. She was frightened now in an ordinary way, sick in her stomach, shy, tongue-tied, horribly aware of the onset of a new world.

Iris Murdoch

Fiction is the truth inside a lie.

Stephen King

To embellish reality with makeup, with silk and royal purple, isn’t that what we all should be doing? Beneath the life we live every day the silk and the purple are hiding, waiting for us. A person just has to dare to throw off his everyday clothes, to rip them off and to put on the silk and purple that exist, I know it. But we’re the ones who cover them up. Out of boredom, indifference, fear. Mostly fear. So right from the first moment I met you, my lies were always the truth: in telling them I unveiled the world for you — the hidden world, the true world. You were really the one who lied. You wanted everything to remain untouched, paradise to be paradise, and me angel. But you made a fatal mistake: you never believed me. You never understood why I lied, that through my lies I was giving you a unique gift: the truth. You always tried to control me — out of love, of course. But is there any word more ambiguous than the word “love”?

Margarita Karapanou

Many politicians are tantalizing storytellers, as they mix facts with fiction, grab our emotion and tell things, they want us to believe. Their factoids are unremittingly reiterated, take a life on their own and in the end become the very truth… until the bubble bursts.("What after bowling alone?" )

Erik Pevernagie

I prefer, where truth is important, to write fiction.

Virginia Woolf

No, I thought. No way. I love her too much. I would never do that. And then again, those two words, her voice, exploding inside my head: “Tyler, wait!

Amy Hatvany

Everyone will be tracked, cradle to grave, with no possibility of escape.

Dave Eggers

I want to rewind the clock, take back the night when the world shattered. I want to erase everything that went wrong.

Amy Hatvany

Happily chatting and counting pocket change, patting each other on the back and whistling foolish songs, we go out on the thousand-legged street and miraculously turn into passersby.

Sasha Sokolov

The sorry religious novel comes about when the writer supposes that because of his belief, he is somehow dispensed from the obligation to penetrate concrete reality. He will think that the eyes of the Church or of the Bible or of his particular theology have already done the seeing for him, and that his business is to rearrange this essential vision into satisfying patterns, getting himself as little dirty in the process as possible.

Flannery O'Connor

It's never the deviants who are the problem, puss. Don't forget that. It's the people who won't open their minds that are dangerous.

Lucy Ribchester

Welcome, old aspirations, glittering creatures of an ardent underneath the holly! We know you, and have not outlived you yet. Welcome, old projects, and old loves, however fleeting, to your nooks among the steadier lights that burn around us

Charles Dickens

Man alone measures time.Man alone chimes the hour.And, because of this, man alone suffers a paralyzing fear that no other creature endures.A fear of time running out.

Mich Albom

It is never too late or too soon. It is when it is supposed to be.

Mich Albom

From the moment of birth, folks suddenly wanted what others said they could not have. Kids craved the most sugary sweets how alcoholics thirsted for one more drink with the most impactful punch.

Jermaine Watkins

Fate bring two people togetherand it is love's job t o keep them there.

Juvy Ann

The kindest thing you can offer an author is a review and a star rating. So appreciated. THE GOLDEN PEACOCK has had a successful 5-star run on Goodreads and on Amazon. Thank you!” Lauren B. Grossman

Lauren B. Grossman

Sometimes legends make reality, and become more useful than the facts.

Salman Rushdie

Fiction is the lie that tells the truth, after all.

Neil Gaiman

Best seller material, and she didn’t have to write a single word.

A.L. Mabry

Aut viam inveniam aut faciamIt means, in essence, "I'll find a way or I'll make one." It's how I live my life. Another definition is basically "Never give up," which is the path I've taken when it comes to writing books. I've been writing for almost 30 years and just had my first book, THE LOSSES, come out by a small press. And I'm psyched. Just keep on trucking.

Cully Perlman

It's a tough world to find yourself in, but an even tougher one to be yourself in

Chris Colfer

You need to claim the driver's seat," Cash said. "Never take a backseat in your own life! You gotta take that bitch by the steering wheel with all your might - even if the road is bumpy, even if there's blood under your fingernails, even if you loose passengers along the way. Only you can steer your life in the direction that's best for you.

Chris Colfer

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Fiction Quotes - Page 25

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