Quotessence
Home / Topics / Historical Fiction Quotes

Historical Fiction Quotes

Browse 865 quotes about Historical Fiction.

Related topics

WritingStoriesPeopleThinking

Historical Fiction Quotes

“Oh, believe me, you will want to. It’s amazing what people want to do, when they realize that the alternative is something they want even less.” He stood too now, towering over her. His tone was not threatening but jovial, as though he were offering her a cup of tea. “I promise you this, Señorita; by the time this year is out, if I ask you to sit with me, you will sit. If I ask you to dance, you will dance. And when I ask you to marry me, you will say yes.”

RomanceHistorical FictionThreateningHistorical RomanceVillain Quote
Book:Artie's Courage
Create image

“...Prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is... and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams... Prophecy will bite your prick off everytime,”

WarPoliticsFantasyHistorical FictionMiddle AgesEpic FantasyA Song Of Ice And FireGrimdarkPolitical FictionA Feast For CrowsA Game Of ThronesGeorge Rr Martin
Book:A Feast for Crows
Create image

“She tucked the sheet around Shirley and fluffed her pillow. Shirley stared blankly at her. The nurse’s composure broke for a moment. Shirley’s stare had a habit of doing that to people, at least until you got used to it. Most Alzheimer patients looked blank. As if the lights were switched off in their brain, but not Shirley. She looked like there was a part of herself fighting to come back. Her eyes were full of terror. Like there was something horrific only she could see and she was screaming for help, but she couldn’t get any part of her body to cooperate.” Friends Forever”

Historical FictionCrime FictionRevenge Story
Book:The Cuckoo's Song
Create image

“A glance would not be enough to tell you this was the daughter of Katherine Raquel Demure. Even a lingering gaze would not suffice. No. Only careful study of the original and a comparative inspection of her only child would even hint at a relation between the two. Viktor could see it and knew, beyond doubt, that Henrietta not only saw it but was also vexed by it on a daily basis.”

Young AdultHistorical FictionVon StrassenbergViktor Von Strassenberg
Book:The BlueStocking Girl
Create image

“In the forest you may find yourself lost, without companions. You may come to a river which is not on a map. You may lose sight of your quarry, and forget why you are there. You may meet a dwarf, or the living Christ, or an old enemy of yours; or a new enemy, one you do not know until you see his face appear between the rustling leaves, and see the glint of his dagger. You may find a woman asleep in a bower of leaves. For a moment, before you don’t recognise her, you will think she is someone you know.”

FictionEnglandHistorical FictionCromwellThomas CromwellWolf HallThe Tudors
Book:Wolf Hall
Create image

“Il re si siede e comincia a parlare, a sproloquiare. In quegli ultimi dieci anni e più Anna lo ha preso per mano e lo ha portato nella foresta. Lì, al margine del bosco, dove la luce del giorno si frantuma e filtra tra il verde, lui ha perso il senno, l'innocenza. Anna si è fatta rincorrere tutto il giorno, finché lui tremava sfinito, eppure non riusciva a fermarsi neanche per riprendere fiato, non poteva tornare indietro, aveva perso la strada. L'ha inseguita fino al tramonto, l'ha cercata alla luce delle torce. Poi lei gli si è scagliata contro, ha spento le torce e l'ha lasciato da solo nel buio.”

Historical FictionThomas CromwellAnne BoleynTudor
Book:Bring Up the Bodies
Create image

“She’s not your mother. She’s not a woman; she’s not even human. From the moment she went over, we lost her just as surely as if she’d died. They do not live for our benefit. They belong to Themselves.” I remembered the rolling otter and its sweet-looking paws – dashing that urchin with the rock and the blood staining the water. I remembered the jewel-red carb – dragging that scavenged flesh into the sea grass. I’d found them comical, and pretty, but they were their own creatures too, just as my aunt had said, and busy with the job of living. They probably didn’t even see me. I remembered the way the cave spiders and suchlike scurried to hide from me in the rocks. They were not there for us. They had their own mysterious life living inside them. Their world was not my world, their story not mine.”

Historical FictionUkSelkie
Book:Merrow
Create image

“I do not need to understand words to know he is disappointed I am not a boy. Some things need no translation. And I know, because my body remembers without benefit of words, that men who do not welcome girl-babies will not treasure me as I grow to woman - though he call me princess just because the Guru told him to. I have come so far, I have borne so much pain and emptiness! But men have not yet changed.”

IndiaHistorical FictionPakistanWomens FictionSouth Asian LiteratureSikh
Book:What the Body Remembers
Create image

“He had panicked. Tessier cursed his own stupidity. He should have remained in the column where he would have been protected. Instead, he saw an enemy coming for him like a revenant rising from a dark tomb, and had run first instead of thinking. Except this was no longer a French stronghold. The forts had all been captured and surrendered and the glorious revolutionary soldiers had been defeated. If the supply ships had made it through the blockade, Vaubois might still have been able to defend the city, but with no food, limited ammunition and disease rampant, defeat was inevitable. Tessier remembered the gut-wrenching escape from Fort Dominance where villagers spat at him and threw rocks. One man had brought out a pistol and the ball had slapped the air as it passed his face. Another man had chased him with an ancient boar spear and Tessier, exhausted from the fight, had jumped into the water. He had nearly drowned in that cold grey sea, only just managing to cling to a rock whilst the enemy searched the shoreline. The British warship was anchored outside the village, and although Tessier could see men on-board, no one had spotted him. Hours passed by. Then, when he considered it was clear, he swam ashore to hide in the malodorous marshland outside Mġarr. His body shivered violently and his skin was blue and wrinkled like withered fruit, but in the night-dark light he lived. He had crept to a fishing boat, donned a salt-stained boat cloak and rowed out to Malta's monochrome coastline. He had somehow managed to escape capture by abandoning the boat to swim into the harbour. From there it had been easy to climb the city walls and to safety. He had written his account of the marines ambush, the fort’s surrender and his opinion of Chasse, to Vaubois. Tessier wanted Gamble cashiered and Vaubois promised to take his complaint to the senior British officer when he was in a position to. Weeks went past. Months. A burning hunger for revenge changed to a desire for provisions. And until today, Tessier reflected that he would never see Gamble again. Sunlight twinkled on the water, dazzling like a million diamonds scattered across its surface. Tessier loaded his pistol in the shadows where the air was still and cool. He had two of them, a knife and a sword, and, although starving and crippled with stomach cramps, he would fight as he had always done so: with everything he had.”

WarFictionHistorical FictionVengeanceAction AdventureMilitary HistoryEbooksAdventure FictionMaltaRoyal NavyRoyal Marines
Book:Heart of Oak
Create image

“I taught an introductory creative writing class at Princeton last year and, in addition to the classic ‘show don’t tell’, I often told my students that their fiction needed to have ’emotional truth’ […]: a quality different from honesty and more resilient than fact, a quality that existed not in the kind of fiction that explains but in the kind of fiction that shows. All the novels I love, the ones I remember, the ones I re-read, have this empathetic human quality. And because I write the kind of fiction I like to read, when I started Half of a Yellow Sun […], I hoped that emotional truth would be its major recognizable trait. […] Successful fiction does not need to be validated by ‘real life’; I cringe whenever a writer is asked how much of a novel is ‘real’. Yet, […] to write realistic fiction about war, especially one central to the history of one’s own country, is to be constantly aware of a responsibility to something larger than art. While writing Half of a Yellow Sun, I enjoyed playing with minor things [such as inventing a train station in a town that has none]. Yet I did not play with the central events of that time. I could not let a character be changed by anything that had not actually happened. If fiction is indeed the soul of history, then I was equally committed to the fiction and the history, equally keen to be true to the spirit of the time as well as to artistic vision of it. The writing itself was a bruising experience. […] But there were also moments of extravagant joy when I recognized, in a character or moment or scene, that quality of emotional truth.” In the Shadow of Biafra (essay included in the 2007 Harper Perennial edition of Half of a Yellow Sun).”

WritingFictionHistoryHistorical FictionArtistic VisionEmotional TruthTrue FactsVerifiability
Author:Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Create image

“BECKONED to the square to listen to a representative of the Virginia Company of London. He seemed an unpretentious man, a clerk, if you will, who had some important points to make before the Jamestown colonists started mingling with the new members. The man stepped up on a makeshift wooden box and spoke to the good people gathered for the day’s celebration. As he looked out at the more delicate gender, he released a sigh of satisfaction. The bride ship had come through, and it was hoped these ninety women would secure the colony’s growth. The clerk waved a document in the air and the crowd hushed, anxious to hear what he would say. “Each woman,” he called out, to reach the hearing of those standing furthest away. “Each woman, upon entering into marriage with a man of Jamestown, will receive as promised, one new apron, two new pairs of shoes, six pairs of sheets…” He droned on, reciting the promises made by the Virginia Company of London. As each new item was listed, gasps of delight flickered in the air. The gifting lent the day even more enjoyment for these items were needed to set up a good home and many of the women were arriving with few possessions. The representative talked at length about marriage licenses and how each couple would be married, one after the other, until all were satisfied. When all was said, and done, there would be a lot of paperwork, but these contracts were the foundation of the colony, the building blocks that would ensure the birth of children on this new soil. It wasn’t just the Virginia Company of London who wanted the population to grow in the colony, it was also the wish of Scarlett. These people who would be her neighbours, these men who would make business deals with her husband, these children who would grow by her child’s side, were the herd. From these people, would she harvest, and as they prospered, so would she.”

Historical FictionPioneersHorror FictionVampires Paranormal RomanceVampire SeriesJamestownSupernatural FictionBrideshipVirginia Colony
Book:Girl Desecrated: Vampires, Asylums and Highlanders 1984
Create image

“Dear friends and readers, I am happy to announce that my newest novel, TORN, will be released on September 17, 2025! For those who know me well, you may be thinking to yourself, “Didn’t you say you were done with this whole Books of Furnass enterprise?” And you would be correct. I was finished once and for all, until a friend said, “Isn’t there more to the story?” Intrigued, I got back to work, and the untold story of John Lincoln Lyle’s disappearance and return to Furnass 20 years later was the result. Watch for future posts with details about the plots, excerpts of critics' reviews, and our plans to promote the book coming soon. As always, thank you for your interest and support.”

Historical FictionLiterary FictionNew NovelBook Announcement
Book:Torn
Create image

“How did I become President? I began by setting an example, hanging out my own dirty laundry in front of Village Earth right from the start. Every ugly little life secret became a matter of public record. Of course, that included sordid love-life details.”

CultureFictionDemocracyDramaEducationalHistorical FictionHistorical ResearchFictional NarrativesFictional Drama
Book:The Most Popular President Who Ever Lived [So Far]
Create image

“Up and up they went, still a cable's length apart; but slowly, for the ape was footsore and despondent. As for Stephen, by the sixth-hundred step his calves and thighs were ready to burst, and at each rise now they forced themselves upon his attention. Up and up, up and up until the ridge was no great way off at last. But before they reached it, the path took another turn; and when he too came round the corner he was on top of the ape. She was sitting on a stone, resting her feet. He scarcely knew what to do; it seemed an intrusion. 'God be with you, ape.' he said in Irish, which in his confusion seemed more appropriate.”

Historical FictionOrangutan
Author:Patrick O'Brian
Create image

“หากนับเป็นกุศล ให้ถือเป็นของจวินหวายหลางแห่งจวนหย่งหนิงกง" "...แต่ถ้านับเป็นบาปกรรม" "ให้ถือเป็นของข้าแต่เพียงผู้เดียว”

ChinaHistorical FictionMmromance
Book:เมื่อข้ากลายเป็นพี่ชายของนางเอกที่ถูกรังแกในนิยาย เล่ม 2
Create image

“In ancient times, at this shallow cove, the Koyukon attacked our people. The women fought alongside the men, running half-naked from their homes to show their courage. The Elders took the children into their umiaqs, fleeing to the sea. The Elders shielded the children’s eyes but could not shield their ears, and land went silent. The Elders and children buried the Inupiaq and Koyukon people side-by-side on the stilts of the whalebone, then they journeyed north to begin again.”

Historical FictionIndigenousAlaskaArcticAncestorsIndigenous PeoplesInupiaqWhaleboneBowheadKoyukon
Book:Sivulliq: Ancestor
Create image

“My husband trudged up the ridge, stumbling, but determined. My children and I watched him until he disappeared over the ridge, out of view, vanishing into the abyss. It wasn’t an extraordinary day, not foggy, not stormy, or a bright day. It was grey and cloudy when a good man and a good father walked up to face death like our people have done for a millennia.”

DeathHistorical FictionDeath And DyingIndigenousAlaskaArcticNative American LiteratureInupiaqAlaska Native Literature
Book:Sivulliq: Ancestor
Create image

“Below deck is suffocating, smelling of sweaty, spermy, unwashed armpits, unwashed groins, moldy wood, bilge water, and the green smell of algae, all congealed in thick streams. I’ve learned to sleep by breathing out of my mouth. On deck, we escape the bed bugs biting away at our skin, clicking cockroaches hiding in the shadows, and the rats gnawing away at every cask. I look forward to the cold sea air.”

Historical FictionIndigenousAlaskaArcticNative American LiteratureInupiaqAlaska Native LiteratureYankee WhalersNew Bedford
Book:Sivulliq: Ancestor
Create image

“At the Galapagos Islands, the cook wanted fresh wild pigs. He said we needed fresh meat to last until San Francisco. We tried. We heard pigs squealing on the island, running, large leaves moving as they ran underneath the foliage. Merihim said we’ve no time. So, we killed two large turtles, the biggest I’ve ever seen. The cook dried and cured the meat into jerky.”

Historical FictionSan FranciscoIndigenousAlaskaArcticNative American LiteratureInupiaqAlaska Native LiteratureGalápagos Islands
Book:Sivulliq: Ancestor
Create image

“I’ve been told that I cannot change shit, so I might as well stop torturing myself. My emotions are ridiculed and branded as childish. I have been told that the world has given up on my people. I have been told, and realise that on many occasions, I myself am viewed as an outcast by some of those suffering. I’ve been confronted and my answer is always the same: I care even in my most fucked-up moments. I care even when gates of shit pour open to drown me; I care because I am a citizen of the world.”

FictionTerrorismHistorical FictionSyriaReadLiterary FictionGlobal CitizenPsychological NovelNon LinearNon Linear NarrativeNon Linear Books
Book:An Ishmael of Syria
Create image

“For I’m neither a submitter nor a hating retaliator, I acknowledge the boundaries of my existence; yet, I still care. I care regardless of the way they choose to reduce me to the brand that is the birthmark of the accident of my conception. I care less about what that brand signifies in terms of my character, potential, and intentions. For the harmed I care. For the real victims. It’s the most basic of my mandatory civil duties. Only in caring, am I a citizen of the world.”

FictionTerrorismHistorical FictionSyriaReadLiterary FictionGlobal CitizenPsychological NovelNon LinearNon Linear NarrativeNon Linear Books
Book:An Ishmael of Syria
Create image

“As a citizen of the world, it’s my instinct to keep the fallen and the suffering in my thoughts. The human brain fascinates me; its limitless bounds of empathy. You see, in my mind there is logic to it: do no harm, prevent harm, help, support, care for the harmed, face the harmer. My stupid idealist conscience considers sympathy, not pity, at its worst, the most basic and the least negotiable civil duty. Of course as a citizen of the world, I should strive to do more. That said, I am only a man and so I often do the least.”

FictionTerrorismHistorical FictionSyriaReadLiterary FictionGlobal CitizenPsychological NovelNon LinearNon Linear NarrativeNon Linear Books
Book:An Ishmael of Syria
Create image

“As a citizen of the world, it’s my instinct to keep the fallen and the suffering in my thoughts... You see, in my mind there is logic to it: do no harm, prevent harm, help, support, care for the harmed, face the harmer. My stupid idealist conscience considers sympathy, not pity, at its worst, the most basic and the least negotiable civil duty. Of course as a citizen of the world, I should strive to do more. That said, I am only a man and so I often do the least.”

FictionTerrorismHistorical FictionSyriaReadLiterary FictionGlobal CitizenPsychological NovelNon LinearNon Linear NarrativeNon Linear Books
Author:Asaad Almohammad
Create image