Faerie Quotes

“Desire is not always lessened by disgust. Nor can it be bestowed, like a favor, to those most deserving of it. And as my words bind my magic, so you can know the truth. If she doesn’t desire his kiss, she won’t be free.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Ashes

“She loves the serene brutality of the ocean, loves the electric power she felt with each breath of wet, briny air.”
― Holly Black, Tithe

“I have always loved you, princess" Robin Goodfellow promised, his green eyes shining in the darkness. "I always will. And I'll take whatever you can give me.”
― Julie Kagawa, The Iron Queen

“But unlike you," said Jace, "there is nothing of hell in us."
"You are mortal; you age; you die," the Queen said dismissively. "If that is not hell, pray tell me, what is?”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Ashes

“Look, it's easy to outsmart a werewolf or a vampire," Jace said. "They're no smarter than anyone else. But faeries live for hundreds of years and they're as cunning as snakes. They can't lie, but they love to engage in creative truth-telling. They'll find out whatever it is you want most in the world and give it to you—with a sting in the tail of the gift that will make you regret you ever wanted it in the first place."
He sighed. "They're not really about helping people. More about harm disguised as help.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Ashes

“You have only seen the least of what I can do.”
― Holly Black, The Cruel Prince

“There are no happy endings... There are no endings, happy or otherwise. We all have our own stories which are just part of the one Story that binds both this world and Faerie. Sometimes we step into each others stories - perhaps just for a few minutes, perhaps for years - and then we step out of them again. But all the while, the Story just goes on.”
― Charles deLint, Dreams Underfoot

“A faerie heart is different from a human heart. Human hearts are elastic. They have room for all sorts of passions, and they can break and heal and love again and again. Faerie hearts are evolutionarily less sophisticated. They are small and hard, like tiny grains of sand. Our hearts are too small to love more than one person in a lifetime.”
― Jodi Lynn Anderson, Tiger Lily

“Sharpen your heart.”
― Holly Black, The Cruel Prince

“I would remain nearer you for what time there is."

"Gone in one faerie sigh," she quoted.

Leather-clad fingers brushed over her short hair, rested on her cheek. "I can hold my breath.”
― Holly Black, Valiant

“there are three kinds of people in the world: those who don't know and don't know they don't know; those who don't know and do know they don't know; and those who know and know how much they still don't know.”
― Karen Marie Moning, Bloodfever

“I ached for him, my stomach twisting painfully. He looked so desolate standing there alone facing a mad queen and several thousand angry fey. His voice was flat and resigned, as if he'd been pushed into a corner and had given up, not caring what happened next.”
― Julie Kagawa, The Iron Daughter

“Whoever controls the king, controls the kingdom”
― Holly Black, The Cruel Prince

“We got it." Val grinned and lifted her fist. "Wonder twin powers activate!"
Ruth grinned back, knocking her fist into Val's. "Shape of two fucking lunatics.”
― Holly Black, Valiant

“Iron. Ice.
A Love Doomed
From the Start”
― Julie Kagawa, The Iron King

“Perhaps all women are part faerie, for what woman can deny her faerie blood when the portals to her own land are open; when the full moon sings its insistent song; when sorrow and passion and rage pulse through her body at moon times. This is why women are the chosen ones of Faerie, pat of the vibrant, fluid, emotional soul of the world…”
― Brian Froud, Brian Froud's World of Faerie

“Far more often [than asking the question 'Is it true?'] they [children] have asked me: 'Was he good? Was he wicked?' That is, they were far more concerned to get the Right side and the Wrong side clear. For that is a question equally important in History and in Faerie.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, Tolkien On Fairy-stories

“Down the hill I went, and then,
I forgot the ways of men,
For night-scents, heady and damp and cool
Wakened ecstasy”
― Sara Teasdale, Flame and Shadow

“Fairies in Ireland are sometimes as big as we are, sometimes bigger, and sometimes, as I have been told, about three feet high.”
― William Butler Yeats

“Of course the fall semester didn’t start for another eight weeks or so. There was always a chance we were both being overly optimistic in thinking I’d be alive when it rolled around.”
― Jenna Black, Shadowspell

“Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that.”
“Always looking after your best interests,” I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass.
It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned.
“Human fool,” he hissed. But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next.
“I’m going to paint you,” I said, and giggled—actually giggled—as the words popped out.
“Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered, and I laughed again.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“If you do not have the courage to be yourself, what will you be?”
― The Silver Elves, Living the Personal Myth: Making the Magic of Faerie Real in One's Own Life

“On November Eve they are at their gloomiest, for according to the old Gaelic reckoning, this is the first night of winter. This night they dance with the ghosts, and the pooka is abroad, and witches make their spells, and girls set a table with food in the name of the devil, that the fetch of their future lover may come through the window and eat of the food. After November Eve the blackberries are no longer wholesome, for the pooka has spoiled them.”
― W.B. Yeats, Irish Fairy and Folk Tales

“Humph,' he said, with a disagreeable air, 'the universe does its work very quietly.' ( “The Bogey Man” )”
― A.E. Coppard, Dusky Ruth and Other Stories

“Wait," I said.
He tilted his head in exasperation, clearly anticipating some sort of lecture. He went completely still when I strode up to him and kissed him.
For one strange moment, I felt like laughing, because it was so clear that I had shocked him. I soon forgot about that, though, as well as everything else. I had not kissed him since Ljosland, and that barely counted; the first time, I had been so nervous that I barely touched him, while the second he had been in his other,oiche sidheform. Perhaps it was the leaves rustling invisibly or the breeze that plucked at my hair, but I had the sense that I had left the mortal realm somehow, and that when I opened my eyes, I would find myself in some enchanted grove surrounded by faerie lights. This impression was so strong that I pulled away, dizzy.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“"Lostis kingdom with many paths, but they all end at the same place. Do you know where? "
I bit back a sigh, because now that the novelty was wearing off, the stranger was beginning to grate on me. "I imagine you mean Faerie.The kingdom of the lost,it is called in some of the oldest tales. Rather poetic, isn't it? But most likely it simply refers to the habit the Folk have of leading careless mortals astray. "
He blinked at me, this strange apparition of a man, and for a moment he looked almost sane.
"You just might do it," he murmured after a pause. "A silly child with her hair all in tangles.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“I picked up his hands and examined them, then gripped his chin in a carefully businesslike way and looked into his eyes. I saw nothing peculiar--- noadditionalpeculiarity, that is; his eyes have always been too green, a blackened green like leaves layered until no light can get through. I don't like to hold his gaze for long; not because I find it intimidating, but because a part of me worries that if I do, I will never wish to look away.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“We turned off the path then, following a line of red, cup-shaped wildflowers that I had not seen before. And then abruptly, we came to a door-- anactualdoor, because the Folk are maddeningly inconsistent, even when it comes to their inconsistencies--- tucked into a little hollow.
It was only about two feet tall and painted to look like the mountainside, a scene of grey-brown scree with a few splashes of green, so realistic that it was like a reflection on still water. The only thing that gave it away was the doorknob, which looked like nothing that I can put into human terms; the best I can do is compare it to a billow of fog trapped in a shard of ice.
"It has the look of a brownie house," Wendell said. "But perhaps I should make sure."
He shoved the door open and vanished into the shadows within--- I cannot relate how he accomplished this; it seemed for a moment as if the door grew to fit him, but I was unable to get a handle on the mechanics as not one second later he was racing out again and the door had shrunk to its old proportions. Several porcelain cups and saucers followed in his wake, about the right size for a doll, and one made contact, smashing against his shoulder. Behind the hail of pottery came a little faerie who barely came up to my knee, wrapped so tightly in what looked like a bathrobe made of snow that I could see only its enormous black eyes. Upon its head it wore a white sleeping cap. It was brandishing a frying pan and shouting something--- I think--- but its voice was so small that I could only pick out the odd word. It was some dialect of Faie that I could not understand, but as the largest difference between High Faie and the faerie dialects lies in the profanities, the sentiment was clear.
"Good Lord!" Rose said, leaping out of range of the onslaught.
"I don't--- what on--- would youstop? "Wendell cried, shielding himself with his arm. "Yes, all right, I should have knocked, but is this really necessary?"
The faerie kept on shrieking, and then it launched the frying pan at Wendell's head--- he ducked--- and slammed its door.
Rose and I stared at each other. Ariadne looked blankly from Wendell to the door, clutching her scarf with both hands. "Bloody Winter Folk," Wendell said, brushing ceramic shards from his cloak.
"WinterFolk? "I repeated.
"Guardians of the seasons--- or anyway, that is how they see themselves," he said sourly. "Really I think they just want a romantic excuse to go about blasting people with frost and zephyrs and such. It seems I woke him earlier than he desired."
I had never heard of such a categorization, but as I was somewhat numb with surprise, I filed the information away rather than questioning him further. I fear that working with one of the Folk is slowly turning my mind into an attic of half-forgotten scholarly treasures.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“I brushed the hair from his face. It is very soft--- ludicrously so, in fact, more like rabbit down or dandelion seed than human hair--- and I found I could not stop stroking it. He murmured something, and the crease between his eyes faded.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“The door had six knobs on its inner side: the uppermost, which matched the outer one, a square of frost-furred crystal, and five beneath it, placed in an uneven row. The first two were of some sort of dark stone, one icy and the other matte and slippery-smooth. The fourth had the look of a tiny aquarium, a cylinder of turquoise sea shafted with sunlight. The bottom two were made of wood. The first was pale, carved with an intricate floral pattern. I could not tell if the second was similarly decorated, for it was largely covered in a wet moss woven with constellations of tiny white flowers.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands