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Heroine Quotes

Browse 126 quotes about Heroine.

Heroine Quotes

“I wouldn’t joke if you weren’t always patching me up,” Davin retorted. He looked at Chad again. “You must have noticed, right? It’s kind of cute, actually.” Though my heart fluttered, I tried to shoot him a warning glare. He ignored me. “I like to call her Doctor Fisher.”

“LaForche's never-was has-never been emaciated spirit was now as it had always been, hole’ up by vapidity and things intangible. Yet it looked so common and ordinary, blenting into the masses using the trogs as a mask to hide itself (later Christina recalled Thomas saying that the sleuth Man said there was nothing unnatural like the common, and the detective was right. “The Fork” was a four-star pronged pointless entity, a spirit without form or life, except now it was evident, his external body displaying to all the leftovers of his empty writhing, splastic visage. Short of sheet and simply put, the girl had out-foiled him—. With the wolves of humiliation tearing the meat right off of his soul, he continued in his loner power mongering ways. Once formidable, they now reeked of rancid mal-diminishment. This is all he had left–and knew it, an armload of empty conquests, but the prize, the one he had desired and wanted so much, had eluded his hounding dogmatic futile, empty and sterile grasp. The power of powerlessness tonned his shoulders, gashing him and his god of pride apart. He shot a quick glarance toward the wall phone thinking of “The Bix,” Kerta’s # 1 Ace problem solving “mechanic.” --OnFelipe LaForche , Villain The lady and the Samurai”

“Books allow us to escape from the pressures of modern life. By far, the best vehicles of escape are Young Adult Science Fiction or Fantasy genre allowing us to lose ourselves in worlds far away from the reality we know. This escapism works because we totally immerse ourselves and:- We become the hero or heroine. We are the ones who thwart evil. We laugh as we socialise with characters we have never met but feel they are as close as our family. We cry when we lose a good friend.”

“The day came when she discovered sex, sensuality, and literature; she said, 'I submit! Let my life be henceforth ruled by poetry. Let me reign as the queen of my dreams until I become nothing less than the heroine of God.”

“This world will not recognize real people and their real struggle. Because the majority are fake here. They have sold their souls to live the life of luxury and comfort. They deal in the currency of glitz and glamour. They are driven by the pettiness of greed and patheticity of selfishness. They don't recognize honesty, integrity, and real struggle! But you do not become a cynic. You cannot give up on your idealism and integrity. Lend a hand to the poor and needy. Stand up for the Innocents. Be a voice for the voiceless in this world! Don't let them take away the real hero or real heroine in you! Believe in yourself. Never doubt your capabilities. Stay real and stay humble.”

“A hero: a man or woman who is unsatisfied by his condition, and resolves to do something about it.”

“With a wicked smirk, I part the Devil's lips. He invites me eagerly with want, drinking me in like salted chocolate, savoring my blood on his tongue. He thinks he has me. My muscles tense when he weakens, my power growing as his desire burgeons. It shifts too suddenly. I gasp as he grabs me by the waist, pulling me firmly against his body. His hand coils around my neck, lifting my lips to his. My eyes shut instinctually, tasting the blood and honey on his tongue. The taste deepens, layered like spiced sangria. I want more. I want it so much, it consumes me. I press into him harder. He's ravenous, squeezing me, threading his fingers through my hair, ruining my curls. No. My eyes burst open, but I don't shatter his fantasy. Not yet. I come up for breath as his lips find their way to my neck. I tilt my head back, glancing at the stained glass ceiling. The upper hand is mine again when I push him against the stone wall, furiously feeding him kisses to satiate his hunger. He grabs my leg, pulling it around his waist. I balance myself against the cave, and with my touch, crystals start to sprout. Citrine, ruby, and amber. They form into points, my own glittering weapons. Once they're not long enough, I snap a piece off. The Devil mistakes my destruction as rapture. I play into it further. Grabbing him by the collar, I spin us away from the wall, continuing our tango over to the balcony. Wisps of my gossamer gown pool around my thighs as he explores me. My fingers twist into his hair, pulling, stringing up his appetite until he begs for more. And, once I have him truly at my mercy, I jab the crystal straight into his back.”

“Valley of the Damned (# 1 The 'Halla) As she sat teary, another story arose, Young and full of vigor hewed with manymanymany years of repose. “Comrades” she brightened, “listen again to my tale, Of courage and power, and how evil can never prevail. —Valkyrie Kari, Saint of the Blade Chapter 15, Valley of the Damned Footnote: In one form or another, everybody hears but very few listen. It is a lost art. Like developing a taste for classical art, music or fine wine, listening is a skill, a ‘taste’ to develop, an “acquired sound.” Valley of the Damned et al.”

“The gown was made of ivory silk with an organza overlay, embellished with silver stitching cascading down to a smattering of embroidered stars. The bust of the dress crossed along my chest, thin straps with two stars resting on my collarbone, the waist tying with a silk bow, the open back dipping down, also encrusted with two stars. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, and the woman staring back at me wasn't quite me; she was fierce, maybe even beautiful. I'd never felt that way before, but I did in this moment. This dress was perfect.”

“Garden of the Dragons (Vol. Three, 'The 'Halla') Epilogue (abridged 'Tis an immortaled foreverness we go to, On that wind shorn and storm torrid plain, Where hopes, dreams and life never dies - As we encounter ourselves, and in our love The victory do we gain. Even so, there are more forgotten fables of This eternaled lass, She exists in our dreams forever, that shadow land Where true hearts do last. She is our story, the legends and myths as are we, A tale to be told to the child within, who forevermore is free. Rides she everlasting in our quietest stores, And summons up the courage to live of what we Have royally into been born. Yea, once more she rules the Forgottenland, She has learned to love, but forever Alone, she stands. But we should know, deep down inside, Kari doth smiles for she is one of her kind (For if nothing else, she appreciates her all, Who she is and in this, knowing she will never fall). Thus it is written perhaps with our dissent, That those in Hell are of the unrepent. A place of one's own choosing so it would seem, Moment by moment we enter therein with our false dreams. Yet those who are there know one truth above all, The strength of iron hopelessness - Of realities not false. A prison to some, a Heaven to others, Freedom reigns when earthen illusions are shattered asunder. And Kari, does she know her secret? Surely she does, That to love and to be oneself are blessings from Above.”

“It has been said that Shakespeare, the great delineator of human character, has failed in distinguishing his principal women—and that such as he meant to be amiable are all equally gentle and good. How difficult then it is for a novelist to give to one of his heroines any very marked feature which shall not disfigure her! Too much reason and self-command destroy the interest we take in her distresses. It has been observed, that Clarissa is so equal to every trial as to diminish our pity. Other virtues than gentleness, pity, filial obedience, or faithful attachment, hardly belong to the sex.”

“I mean it, it’s another gap in your education. Until you can learn to understand her, you’ll get nowhere as a detective. She’s everybody’s conscience, Bob—the universal maiden aunt, cousin or sister. Humanity’s backbone. Throughout history, she’s gone to the stake for you again and again; not with any sense of heroism, but as a matter of principle and because it would never occur to her to do anything else.”

“When you fear nothing, you have nothing to fear”

“I really am hungry." I leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I'm hungry for something too." She turned an adorable shade of red and tried to scoot away from me, which wasn't going to happen since I had put my arm around her waist and there was no way she could break my hold. That's when we heard the most unexpected sound. Laughter. I looked up to see the fae in the end booth laughing. She had scooted her book aside and was trying to cover her mouth, but she was laughing. "I'm sorry," she giggled, wiping at the tears in the corner of her eye. "I didn't mean to spy on you guys, but whatever he just did to you reminds me of my mate." She burst into giggles again and her laughter bubbled loudly enough to draw the fae from the kitchen. "Thea, what happened?" The kitchen fae opened the door. "No, nothing. That big one just did something to the witch and it reminded me of Devin.”

“An important note about Roxannah's background. In my conversation with Dr. Jessica Sanderson (please see Author Acknowledgements), what became obvious to me was that childhood wounds cause us to break down differently. The same wound can cause one person to break toward control, while another breaks toward fragility. We break toward hyper-vigilance, catastrophic thinking, workaholism, or worthlessness. Our deepest wounds can wear a thousand faces. But The Queen's Cook is a not a book about childhood trauma. It is the story of a woman who through hardship finds friendship, love, and a life-changing relationship with God.”