Fantasy Fiction Quotes

“The early women rise before I do. Their lamps splinter the gloom of the kitchens. They chatter in whispers as they brew tea for the cooks. Windows are open to counter the heat of the ovens. Outside, the sky is as black as my soul.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“This world would be a pleasant place if people didn’t inhabit it.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Would you like me to put you out of your misery, before I put you out of your misery?”
― Paul Cude, Bentwhistle the Dragon in a Threat from the Past

“One day, you will be old enough to start reading fairytales again.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia

“When people dis fantasy—mainstream readers and SF readers alike—they are almost always talking about one sub-genre of fantastic literature. They are talking about Tolkien, and Tolkien's innumerable heirs. Call it 'epic', or 'high', or 'genre' fantasy, this is what fantasy has come to mean. Which is misleading as well as unfortunate.

Tolkien is the wen on the arse of fantasy literature. His oeuvre is massive and contagious—you can't ignore it, so don't even try. The best you can do is consciously try to lance the boil. And there's a lot to dislike—his cod-Wagnerian pomposity, his boys-own-adventure glorying in war, his small-minded and reactionary love for hierarchical status-quos, his belief in absolute morality that blurs moral and political complexity. Tolkien's clichés—elves 'n' dwarfs 'n' magic rings—have spread like viruses. He wrote that the function of fantasy was 'consolation', thereby making it an article of policy that a fantasy writer should mollycoddle the reader.

That is a revolting idea, and one, thankfully, that plenty of fantasists have ignored. From the Surrealists through the pulps—via Mervyn Peake and Mikhael Bulgakov and Stefan Grabiński and Bruno Schulz and Michael Moorcock and M. John Harrison and I could go on—the best writers have used the fantastic aesthetic precisely to challenge, to alienate, to subvert and undermine expectations.

Of course I'm not saying that any fan of Tolkien is no friend of mine—that would cut my social circle considerably. Nor would I claim that it's impossible to write a good fantasy book with elves and dwarfs in it—Michael Swanwick's superb Iron Dragon's Daughter gives the lie to that. But given that the pleasure of fantasy is supposed to be in its limitless creativity, why not try to come up with some different themes, as well as unconventional monsters? Why not use fantasy to challenge social and aesthetic lies?

Thankfully, the alternative tradition of fantasy has never died. And it's getting stronger. Chris Wooding, Michael Swanwick, Mary Gentle, Paul di Filippo, Jeff VanderMeer, and many others, are all producing works based on fantasy's radicalism. Where traditional fantasy has been rural and bucolic, this is often urban, and frequently brutal. Characters are more than cardboard cutouts, and they're not defined by race or sex. Things are gritty and tricky, just as in real life. This is fantasy not as comfort-food, but as challenge.

The critic Gabe Chouinard has said that we're entering a new period, a renaissance in the creative radicalism of fantasy that hasn't been seen since the New Wave of the sixties and seventies, and in echo of which he has christened the Next Wave. I don't know if he's right, but I'm excited. This is a radical literature. It's the literature we most deserve.”
― China Miéville

“Courage does not always roar. Valor does not always shine.”
― Tomi Adeyemi, Children of Blood and Bone

“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.”
― Michael Scott, The Warlock

“I think love is stronger than habits or circumstances. I think it is possible to keep yourself for someone for a long time and still remember why you were waiting when she comes at last.”
― Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn

“Death is lighter than a feather. Duty, heavier than a mountain.”
― Robert Jordan, The Eye of the World

“Do flyers become archers when you give them a bow? No. They need arrows, too.”
― Andri E. Elia, Borealis: A Worldmaker of Yand Novel

“As you enter, you pray to leave. As you leave, you pray to never return.”
― Victoria Aveyard, King's Cage

“Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end.”
― George R.R. Martin

“It's not the answer you wanted to hear," Pha said.
"It's the truth," Katrina said stepping onto the walk leading to the back door. "The truth's better than hearing nothing.”
― Andrea Luhman, Missing Wings

“As it so happens, Mr. Jest, I’ve sometimes come to believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast…”
― Marissa Meyer, Heartless

“Good evening, Sergeant,” Helen said. “What’s that?”
He held the bag out to her. “A present for Lieutenant Angel. Something
to eat on your journey.”
She took it and put it back on the desk. “Wipe that damn grin off
your face, Sergeant. A smiling Toltec is a contradiction in terms.”
― Candace L. Talmadge, Stoneslayer: Book One Scandal

“It will pain me to see you two make fools of yourselves trying to avoid one another."
"I barely see him, I won't look foolish."
Valgu looked unconvinced.
"The times I do see him, I can use one of your aloof expressions that I've been practicing."
"Good idea, he'll never see through that."
"I'm not going to cry openly, or sit around pining for him. I'll pretend it doesn't hurt, until it really doesn't. I know how to do that.”
― Andrea Luhman, Missing Wings

“But this was no ordinary chicken. This chicken was evil manifest.”
― Terry Goodkind, Soul of the Fire

“Usually, she considered Valgu a solid judge of character. She found it easy to concede trust to those he would call friend. But this man, and his brazen claim that he had the ability to restore her wings. Tegija seemed task oriented, and had an heir of self important pride, common traits among attractive men. Tegija was in all things the exact opposite of her private nightmare. The one where her brothers failed to retrieve her, and the House sold her off to some nervous indecisive man child.
No one had even bothered to introduce them.”
― Andrea Luhman, Missing Wings

“I will hold your secret and say prayers to the goddesses for your success. Go forth, and do great things, young guardian.”
― Tricia Copeland, To be a Fae Guardian

“The problem with a lot of people who read only literary fiction is that they assume fantasy is just books about orcs and goblins and dragons and wizards and bullshit. And to be fair, a lot of fantasy is about that stuff.

The problem with people in fantasy is they believe that literary fiction is just stories about a guy drinking tea and staring out the window at the rain while he thinks about his mother. And the truth is a lot of literary fiction is just that. Like, kind of pointless, angsty, emo, masturbatory bullshit.

However, we should not be judged by our lowest common denominators. And also you should not fall prey to the fallacious thinking that literary fiction is literary and all other genres are genre. Literary fiction is a genre, and I will fight to the death anyone who denies this very self-evident truth.

So, is there a lot of fantasy that is raw shit out there? Absolutely, absolutely, it’s popcorn reading at best. But you can’t deny that a lot of lit fic is also shit. 85% of everything in the world is shit. We judge by the best. And there is some truly excellent fantasy out there. For example, Midsummer Night’s Dream; Hamlet with the ghost; Macbeth, ghosts and witches; I’m also fond of the Odyessey; Most of the Pentateuch in the Old Testament, Gargantua and Pantagruel.

Honestly, fantasy existed before lit fic, and if you deny those roots you’re pruning yourself so closely that you can’t help but wither and die.”
― Patrick Rothfuss

“In Esimore, Sulux was returning from tending to the herd as it grazed the summer pastures. The lone traveller was dressed in light blue clothing that shimmered white in the evening sun. The old prophesies had finally been fulfilled.”
― Robert Reid, White Light Red Fire

“Some twenty-five miles to the north, the army of Bala was making progress as fast as it could towards the Coe Mountains. When the thunderous noise of the destruction in the Pass of Ing reached them, they turned to see the pass erupting like an angry volcano. The flames, even at this distance, were terrifying and shock was etched on every face as each man considered the defiant bravery of the day before, a bravery that could have had them consumed by withering fire.
Robert Reid – White Light Red Fire”
― Robert Reid, White Light Red Fire

“He now knew that war was not at all like culling deer, and the last one, with the man so close, had been the worst. The shock on the enemy’s face as the arrow halted his run would haunt him always.
Robert Reid – White Light Red Fire”
― Robert Reid, White Light Red Fire

“I believe the red stone was kept under lock and key in the dungeon far below Aldene Castle. I know that in 1507, when the Eldest visited Aldene, he was concerned about something dangerous that was held in Aldene’s dungeon.”
― Robert Reid, The Thief

“The explanation seemed to satisfy Rafe, although it concerned him that perhaps the new King had discovered that some of the trinkets from his warehouse were missing. Raimund was also concerned, although he did not let Rafe know. He could almost feel the red stone he still kept in his pocket rejoicing; its master was searching for it.”
― Robert Reid, The Thief

“She then continued. “All of the iron work was destroyed. Melted lumps of iron lay all round the smithies but there was one fragment that remained whole, a motif from one of the cannons, a dragon’s head. Below the fiery mouth, words were embossed in the metal, ‘Lex Talionis’.”
Robert Reid – The Son”
― Robert Reid, The Son

“Faith continued, “My uncle brought Aleana to the house last autumn, September I think. She didn’t stay long, but she was nice, my mother and I liked her. My mother, Lachlan’s sister, and I both work for my uncle, looking after the house. You must be her friend Raimund. She talked about you and told me to look out for you. She was certain you would come to find her.”
― Robert Reid, The Thief

“The salt of Elat stored on the deck began to dissolve and the purple colour in the water deepened as it spread out. As the concentration of salt increased around the first transport, the ferocity of the othium fires became more intense. In a few moments the heat and the salt caused the othium to reach critical level, and a huge explosion blew both transports into matchwood. The blasts grew in intensity as rock after rock exploded.”
― Robert Reid, White Light Red Fire

“The old man’s eyes sparked. “Elan of Ember, you I know, take me to your King.” He paused. “Now!” The old man spoke like a crack of thunder and red lightning flashed from his open hand. The portal gate beside Elan flashed with fire and disappeared. Without thought, Elan’s sword flew to his hand as he made towards the traveller. But again the red fire flashed. The sword glowed and like the gate, it was consumed by the fire. Elan collapsed, clutching the burnt fragments of his sword in his injured hand. “Take him to the King,” he grunted in pain. The guards did so without delay.”
― Robert Reid, White Light Red Fire

“Munro reached out towards Raimund and took the orb from him, clasping it between his hands. As soon as the orb was covered, the red fire died. The girls’ chanting reached a crescendo. Munro squeezed his hands together, and as he did so a sudden wind blew from the west. The shadow from the single stone reached out to touch Munro’s shoulder.”
― Robert Reid, The Thief