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Folklore Quotes

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Folklore Quotes

“Folk art is, indeed, the oldest of the aristocracies of thought, and because it refuses what is passing and trivial, the merely clever and pretty, as certainly as the vulgar and insincere, and because it has gathered into itself the simplest and most unforgettable thoughts of the generations, it is the soil where all great art is rooted. Wherever it is spoken by the fireside, or sung by the roadside, or carved into the lintel, appreciation of the arts that a single mind gives unity and design to, spreads quickly when its hour is come.”

CultureStorytellingStoryFairy TaleFairy TalesFolkloreFairiesOral TraditionFolktalesOral Storytelling
Book:The Celtic Twilight
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“Beer gurgled through the beard. 'You see,' the young man began, 'the desert's so big you can't be alone in it. Ever notice that? It's all empty and there's nothing in sight, but there's always something moving over there where you can't quite see it. It's something very dry and thin and brown, only when you look around it isn't there. Ever see it?' 'Optical fatigue -' Tallant began. 'Sure. I know. Every man to his own legend. There isn't a tribe of Indians hasn't got some way of accounting for it. You've heard of the Watchers? And the twentieth-century white man comes along, and it's optical fatigue. Only in the nineteenth century things weren't quite the same, and there were the Carkers.' 'You've got a special localized legend?' 'Call it that. You glimpse things out of the corner of your mind, same like you glimpse lean, dry things out of the corner of your eye. You incase 'em in solid circumstance and they're not so bad. That is known as the Growth of Legend. The Folk Mind in Action. You take the Carkers and the things you don't quite see and put 'em together. And they bite.' Tallant wondered how long that beard had been absorbing beer. 'And what were the Carkers?' he prompted politely. 'Ever hear of Sawney Bean? Scotland - reign of James the First or maybe the Sixth, though I think Roughead's wrong on that for once. Or let's be more modern - ever hear of the Benders? Kansas in the 1870's? No? Ever hear of Procrustes? Or Polyphemus? Or Fee-fi-fo-fum? 'There are ogres, you know. They're no legend. They're fact, they are. The inn where nine guests left for every ten that arrived, the mountain cabin that sheltered travelers from the snow, sheltered them all winter till the melting spring uncovered their bones, the lonely stretches of road that so many passengers traveled halfway - you'll find 'em everywhere. All over Europe and pretty much in this country too before communications became what they are. Profitable business. And it wasn't just the profit. The Benders made money, sure; but that wasn't why they killed all their victims as carefully as a kosher butcher. Sawney Bean got so he didn't give a damn about the profit; he just needed to lay in more meat for the winter. 'And think of the chances you'd have at an oasis.' 'So these Carkers of yours were, as you call them, ogres?' 'Carkers, ogres - maybe they were Benders. The Benders were never seen alive, you know, after the townspeople found those curiously butchered bodies. There's a rumor they got this far West. And the time checks pretty well. There wasn't any town here in the 80s. Just a couple of Indian families - last of a dying tribe living on at the oasis. They vanished after the Carkers moved in. That's not so surprising. The white race is a sort of super-ogre, anyway. Nobody worried about them. But they used to worry about why so many travelers never got across this stretch of desert. The travelers used to stop over at the Carkers, you see, and somehow they often never got any further. Their wagons'd be found maybe fifteen miles beyond in the desert. Sometimes they found the bones, too, parched and white. Gnawed-looking, they said sometimes.' 'And nobody ever did anything about these Carkers?' 'Oh, sure. We didn't have King James the Sixth - only I still think it was the First - to ride up on a great white horse for a gesture, but twice there were Army detachments came here and wiped them all out.' 'Twice? One wiping-out would do for most families.' Tallant smiled at the beery confusion of the young man's speech. 'Uh-huh, That was no slip. They wiped out the Carkers twice because you see once didn't do any good. They wiped 'em out and still travelers vanished and still there were white gnawed bones. So they wiped 'em out again. After that they gave up, and people detoured the oasis. ("They Bite")”

MonstersFolkloreLegendOgreBendersCarkerSawney Bean
Book:Zacherley's Vulture Stew
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“To overpower savagery one must lash out savagely. In their stories Euro-American colonists invented and broadcast a vision of wolves as threats to human safety. They then modeled their behavior on the ferocity they perceived in wolves. Thus folklore explains not only why humans destroyed wolves but why they did so with such cruel enthusiasm.”

HistoryEnvironmentalismFolkloreAnimal CrueltyWolvesMythsViolence Against Animals
Book:Vicious: Wolves and Men in America
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“If a story does its job, it doesn't ever end. Not really. But it can change. This is the nature of folktales. They shift to fit each teller. Take whatever form suits the bearer best. What begins as a story of sorrow can be acknowledged, held like a sweetheart to the chest, rocked and sung to. And then it can be set down to sleep. It can become an offering. A lantern. An ember to lead you through the dark.”

StorytellingFolkloreFolktalesPogroms
Book:Thistlefoot
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“Once quaking with the thunderous hoofbeats of the Wild Hunt, the ground was now littered with the broken limbs of the fallen, swept into the fray by the raging beasts. Bodies fell like autumn leaves, painting the mossy floor red. Their lifeless eyes stared up at the darkened sky, frozen in time, as yet another plea went unanswered by the goddess. They tried, in vain, to do what no other had done before, to rise up against an enemy made of shadows and hate, magic and malice.”

RomanceFantasyMagicSpellsFaeFolkloreCursesIrish FolkloreThe Cost Of Curses
Book:The Cost of Curses: A Cursed Magic Novel
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“There would be no survivors come morning. There never were. The Hunt left no hearts beating. There was no escaping the Sidhe. Not even the Fomorians, the powerful demons from below the sea, had outrun the pale ones and were driven back into the bellies of their waves and waters. But the Milesians were not demons like the Fomori. When they had come to Éire, they had a goddess blessed right to claim, and claim it they would. With spilled blood, unthinkable bargains and curses that would stain generations to come, the Milesians stood their ground.”

RomanceFantasyMagicSpellsEnemies To LoversCursedFolkloreCursesIrish FolkloreThe Cost Of Curses
Book:The Cost of Curses: A Cursed Magic Novel
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“The Sidhe oathed themselves to the demands of the victors, but nothing was free. Even freedom came with a cost, a debt waiting to be collected. The fading echoes of horses and haunting sounds of horns signaled the end of one era and the beginning of a new age, with the path of sacrifice nearly forgotten by all but the fae.”

RomanceFantasyMagicSpellsEnemies To LoversCursedFolkloreCursesIrish FolkloreThe Cost Of Curses
Book:The Cost of Curses: A Cursed Magic Novel
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“The moment I stepped foot on the grounds of Legacy House, a chill ran down my spine, as if the air was saturated with the ghosts of those who were buried beneath my feet. It wasn’t just a feeling of this place being haunted. It was a certainty. Falias had been born into the belly of war, and if a person stayed still long enough, they’d be able to smell the bones of the fallen. Nothing covered up the stench of the fae or the death that trailed behind them like rotting puppy dogs.”

RomanceFantasyMagicSpellsEnemies To LoversCursedFolkloreCursesIrish FolkloreThe Cost Of Curses
Book:The Cost of Curses: A Cursed Magic Novel
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“The Hand of Souls has an insatiable thirst. Its wicked delights are woven into the fabric of fate itself. It’s power drawing in souls like moths to a flame. As daylight fades and shadows lengthen, its cursed nature reaches out like vines in the night, ensnaring its user. Those who grasp the Hand of Souls are forever marked by its twisted touch, eternally intertwined with the darkness that plagues its very existence.”

RomanceFantasyMagicSpellsDark RomanceEnemies To LoversFaeFolkloreCursesIrish Folklore
Book:The Price of Magic: A Cursed Magic Novel
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“Holy hell,” I whispered as soon as we stepped into the hall leading to Killian’s court. My entire body shivered as it soaked up the energy twisting around us. If rage had a taste, it would be the poisonous nectar that hung in the air of Death House—bitter-sweet and deadly. It smelled like the inside of a used coffin and was just as dark. My skin prickled with a clammy cold sweat, goosebumps rolling over my skin. “There’s nothing holy about this place.” Julian pulled me closer. “I offer you a few words of wisdom in this hellish place. Do not cower here, Fiadh, not for anyone. This is not a place to look weak. Go in there like you own it. Respect is only earned through fear and dominance within these walls, and you don’t want to be seen as the only coward here. The moment they smell weakness, you’re nothing but prey in a room full of blood-thirsty predators.”

RomanceFantasyMagicSpellsDark RomanceEnemies To LoversFaeFolkloreCursesIrish Folklore
Book:The Price of Magic: A Cursed Magic Novel
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“If you touch me in anger again, whether it be by fist or power, I will end you and bring your court to its knees. I will worm my curses and spells so deep into the roots of your territory that it will look like another haunted forest when I’m done. There will be nothing left for the imps to destroy in my name when I am through. I will sell off pieces of my soul to magic just to end you.”

RomanceFantasyMagicSpellsDark RomanceEnemies To LoversFaeFolkloreCursesIrish Folklore
Book:The Price of Magic: A Cursed Magic Novel
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“Así se fabricó el folklore. Un musicólogo recogía canciones a las que vinculaba con culturas en extinción, les quitaba las partes complejas, alteraba su estructura para eliminar las formas asimétricas, prescindía de los instrumentos locales y las transcribía en una partitura para piano que se usaba en la clase escolar y en el espectáculo de ballet. Luego esta música, ya adaptada al gusto urbano y burgués, inserta en el mercado del entretenimiento de masas, componente del proyecto estético y moral de las élites conservadoras, desprovista de actores sociales e identidades históricas indeseables, pensada explícitamente como representación de otra cosa, volvía a los espacios que representaba y ocupaba el lugar de su representación.”

FolkloreMúsicaAntropología
Book:Pasajes sonoros: Escritos sobre música, volumen I
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“It was Stevenson, I think, who most notably that there are some places that simply demand a story should be told of them. ... After all, perhaps Stevenson had only half of the matter. It is true there are places which stir the mind to think that a story must be told about them. But there are also, I believe, places which have their story stored already, and want to tell this to us, through whatever powers they can; through our legends and lore, through our rumors, and our rites. By its whispering fields and its murmuring waters, by the wailing of its winds and the groaning of its stones, by what it chants in darkness and the songs it sings in light, each place must reach out to us, to tell us, tell us what it holds. ("The Axholme Toll")”

HorrorStoryLocationPlaceFolkloreLegendPsychogeographyRobert Louis StevensonGenius Loci
Book:Best New Horror 21
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“By bringing together our differences we will see how similar we really are. Combining our strengths and talents is how we will survive, and embracing love according to the needs and values of the tribe is how we shall conquer our fear...”

Magical RealismFolkloreGaelicNature WritingChristian FantasyCeltic MythologyDruidryAncient ReligionFolklore SymbolismHistoric Fantasy
Book:Heart of the Earth: A Fantastic Mythical Adventure of Courage and Hope, Bound by a Shared Destiny
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“Long ago, when faeries and men still wandered the earth as brothers, the MacLeod chief fell in love with a beautiful faery woman. They had no sooner married and borne a child when she was summoned to return to her people. Husband and wife said a tearful goodbye and parted ways at Fairy Bridge, which you can still visit today. Despite the grieving chief, a celebration was held to honor the birth of the newborn boy, the next great chief of the MacLeods. In all the excitement of the celebration, the baby boy was left in his cradle and the blanket slipped off. In the cold Highland night he began to cry. The baby’s cry tore at his mother, even in another dimension, and so she went to him, wrapping him in her shawl. When the nursemaid arrived, she found the young chief in the arms of his mother, and the faery woman gave her a song she insisted must be sung to the little boy each night. The song became known as “The Dunvegan Cradle Song,” and it has been sung to little chieflings ever since. The shawl, too, she left as a gift: if the clan were ever in dire need, all they would have to do was wave the flag she’d wrapped around her son, and the faery people would come to their aid. Use the gift wisely, she instructed. The magic of the flag will work three times and no more. As I stood there in Dunvegan Castle, gazing at the Fairy Flag beneath its layers of protective glass, it was hard to imagine the history behind it. The fabric was dated somewhere between the fourth and seventh centuries. The fibers had been analyzed and were believed to be from Syria or Rhodes. Some thought it was part of the robe of an early Christian saint. Others thought it was a part of the war banner for Harald Hardrada, king of Norway, who gave it to the clan as a gift. But there were still others who believed it had come from the shoulders of a beautiful faery maiden. And that faery blood had flowed through the MacLeod family veins ever since. Those people were the MacLeods themselves.”

LoveScotlandAncestryFolkloreFaery BloodClan MacleodFairy Flag
Book:Faery Tale: One Woman's Search for Enchantment in a Modern World
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