fantasy-fiction

The ego of a god, the wit of a goldfish.

Gods and politics are the tools with which the godless and unprincipled manipulate the gullible.

Raw, freezing magic detonated from her outstretched hand with the sound of a thousand thunderclaps.

Love can provide strength when intellect can find no reason for it.

A flicker of someone else__ memory came to Simon and he picked up Excalibur from where he had dropped it. Carefully, he laid Excalibur on Arthur__ chest. A smile crossed the king__ pasty face as he closed his grazed hands around the sword__ hilt. The touch of something so familiar seemed to give Arthur cause to close his eyes and after a final, relieved breath left his lips, he died.

Love isn't easy. It isn't perfect like in stories or movies--but it's real. When we feel it, it reminds us we are alive, and when we truly feel it--it hurts like hell--but it reminds us why we live... For the hope of love.

He was in a strange, badly lit room, wearing even stranger clothes, getting an earful from an unknown woman, in a language that he could and couldn__ exactly place in a very disturbing way.These were not his memories.

Make no mistake, Marin...a Dragon Guardian may not always be the one sitting upon the throne, but he or she is the protector of the entire realm.

Pain comes with the decision of choosing what I have to offer now, but this same pain is needed to shape you for the greater destiny ahead.

But always remember, I am watching your every move and will be with all of you until the end of all things. Do not let your heart be troubled with the turmoil of the future. Be sure of one thing: the future is already written in the hidden stones of the hearts of those who said __es.

How age enamels us, she would say. It builds up in layers and locks us inside our own skin, stopping us from breaking out, preventing the outside from burrowing in.

John had written that normal fantasy ("normal" in the T.S. Kuhn sense) was written for the moderately educated class suffering from ennui. It was for folks stuck doing dull, repetitive work, growing old while not getting laid half often or variously enough, watching other, less deserving people (the privileged and the crooks) scoop up your share of fun. So then the fantasy generates the exciting world where you're given a heroic purpose and an opportunity to use those very powers you have suspected that you had but never have been able to locate and use, except in destructive ways when shit-faced.

John had written that normal fantasy ("normal" in the T.S. Kuhn sense) was written for the moderately educated class from suffering ennui. It was for folks stuck doing dull, repetitive work, growing old while not getting laid half often or variously enough, watching other, less deserving people (the privileged and the crooks) scoop up your share of fun. So then the fantasy generates the exciting world where you're given a heroic purpose and an opportunity to use those very powers you have suspected that you had but never have been able to locate and use, except in destructive ways when shit-faced.

There was a single window that tapered into a funnel, with eerie moonlight passing through it, reflecting directly off the globe like a mirror. For a moment, as I rose I saw something glimmering within. Dumbly, with feverish whispers assailing me, I realized it was the center of one of the distant galaxies, flaring after some unknown cataclysm. Its radiance was such that it burst from its prison. It met the moonlight halfway. It created kaleidoscopic colours on the walls. Then, in answer, the reliefs transformed from majestic art into something approaching divine, alive, plays from Egyptian memory, given the spark of life from space. I saw animal-headed gods move. They stepped from the walls to take their place around the altar. All stared at the globe. Each raised their arms in silent supplication. And such was their toxic ecstasy that I wished to join them, to forget my dreadful experiences and revel in something truly wondrous.

But optimism dribbles away when horror repeats.

I don__ really believe in aliens. I like to think of them as planet challenged.

Beyond the window, a breeze gently gusted__nd she heard it__ver so softly, just beyond the panes. Like a forlorn lover, dark waters were wooing her, a wily whispering, gently insistent__hrissstaaa_Chrisssstaaaaa_

She buried her face into his neck, hiding her tears__nd her fears, for though the Lor of Zeria was resisting her advances with valiant chivalry, that within her trembling hand was completely without honor.