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Historical Fiction Quotes

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Historical Fiction Quotes

“Quando mi voltai, mi trovai dinanzi a una figura avvolta in una cappa nera, lunga fino ai piedi. Urlai, indietreggiando per lo spavento. Mi scontrai involontariamente contro un quadro, facendolo cadere con un tonfo. Sentii il rumore del vetro che si rompeva in mille pezzi. - Il buio vi proteggerà, Poe - disse l'ombra con una voce roca che graffiava i timpani. Non pensavo che sarebbe ritornato. Non stasera.”

HorrorHistorical FictionLa Mela AvvelenataGli Ultimi Giorni Del Corvo
Book:Gli ultimi giorni del Corvo
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“This regiment was formed last fall, back in Maine. There were a thousand of us then. There’s not three hundred of us now.” He glanced up briefly. “But what is left is choice.” He was embarrassed. He spoke very slowly, staring at the ground. “Some of us volunteered to fight for Union. Some came in mainly because we were bored at home and this looked like it might be fun. Some came because we were ashamed not to. Many of us came … because it was the right thing to do. All of us have seen men die. Most of us never saw a black man back home. We think on that, too. But freedom … is not just a word.” He looked up into the sky, over silent faces. “This is a different kind of army. If you look at history you’ll see men fight for pay, or women, or some other kind of loot. They fight for land, or because a king makes them, or just because they like killing. But we’re here for something new. I don’t … this hasn’t happened much in the history of the world. We’re an army going out to set other men free.” He bent down, scratched the black dirt into his fingers. He was beginning to warm to it; the words were beginning to flow. No one in front of him was moving. He said, “This is free ground. All the way from here to the Pacific Ocean. No man has to bow. No man born to royalty. Here we judge you by what you do, not by what your father was. Here you can be something. Here’s a place to build a home. It isn’t the land—there’s always more land. It’s the idea that we all have value, you and me, we’re worth something more than the dirt. I never saw dirt I’d die for, but I’m not asking you to come join us and fight for dirt. What we’re all fighting for, in the end, is each other.”

Historical FictionAmerican Civil WarHistorical Fiction History War
Book:The Killer Angels
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“I keep forgetting you are one of them, which is silly of me. You dont attempt to conceal your bigotry. The simple fact is that your government and apartheid are the scourge and the curse for Africa.'' Of course, we are responsible for everything: the aids epidemic, the famines of Ethiopia, Angola and Mozambique, the breakdown of government in Uganda and Zambia. The corruption in Nigeria and Zaire, it's all a dirty South African plot. We even killed Samaro Machel, we fed vodka to the Russian crew of his Tupolev jet and with our incredibly sophisticated technology, lured them over the border. Machel hit one of our racist mountains with such force that his brains and major organs were instantly expelled from his body; nevertheless, our apartheid doctors kept him alive long enough to torture state secrets out of him. That is the truth determined by the UNO and AOU'.”

Historical FictionSouth AfricaAfricaAparthiedRace Realism
Author:Wilbur Smith
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“אחר כך ירדה שיירת חירם מן ההר. מורן רכבה ראשונה. בעינים נוצצות ישבה על האוכף, בין השקיים, צמאת מראות, רואה את המרחבים נפתחים לפניה, כמו נכנסת אל עולם שאין לו סוף, מן ההר המשתפל והולך, עד שנעשו הגבעות שוקטות, קטנות, מעט מרעה נמוך פזור עליהן, ורוח חמה מאד אפפה אותם מדרום. הביטה והביטה. אולי כל ימיה צמאה למקום הזה. בכל רגע רחב ליבה יותר. הערבה קבלה אותה בלי קושי, כאילו היא שייכת לה מאז ומעולם. נפעמת קמה בבקרים, קלה, חשה את תמצית החיים בתוך גופה עם כל נשימה, עם כל משב רוח חמימה, מביטה בשמים שנעשו רחבים מאד, כמו צפה בין שמים לשמים, מעולם לא היה לה טוב כבמקום הזה. כל הדברים נעשו פשוטים. הרוח היתה נבונה, מדְרך כף הרגל היה נכון. גם השתיקה. חשה שאין דבר בעולם שלא תוכל לעשותו, אין דבר שיעמוד בפניה.”

Historical FictionBiblical FictionIsraeli LiteratureHebrew LiteratureMidrash
Book:Thirst: The Desert Trilogy
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“She thought how different life might have been for her if Edward hadn’t grown up a farmer’s son. She might have lived in town in a fine house like Cedric’s. But is that what I would want? Some days, the farming life appealed to her: the fresh air, tending growing things, taking care of the animals. Other days, it morphed into little more than drudgery. And now, being alone. Well, she could do without that. It was not what she had agreed to.”

Historical FictionHistorical RomanceChristian Historical RomanceChristian Historical Fiction
Book:In a Grove of Maples
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“His blue eyes were saying something Beryl had been wanting to hear—Edward needed her. She reached out and touched the growing hair on his jaw. He had decided to let his beard grow over the cold months. He placed his hand over hers, and turning it slowly over, he kissed her wrist. The sensation of his lips on her skin made Beryl’s knees feel weak. Good thing I’m sitting.”

Historical FictionHistorical RomanceChristian Historical RomanceChristian Historical Fiction
Book:In a Grove of Maples
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“Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment. Next, Edward’s lips touched hers, feather light at first. She kissed him back. It took only seconds for them to kiss each other with a hunger that spoke of more than nourishment. Beryl’s heart raced as Edward peeled back her collar and unbuttoned the first few buttons of her shirtwaist. She sat there with her eyes closed in a trance as his lips touched the hollow of her neck. All sound vanished except the beating of her heart in her ears.”

Historical FictionHistorical RomanceChristian Historical RomanceChristian Historical Fiction
Book:In a Grove of Maples
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“Edward read through his words again before sealing them up in an envelope. There were other words he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how. How could he tell Beryl that he missed the color of her eyes at night, her laugh when he made a joke, and even her chiding? Those were things he couldn’t write in a letter. He didn’t consider himself a romantic, and Beryl had known that when she had married him. June seemed like such a long time back to Edward, much longer than six months ago.”

Historical FictionHistorical RomanceHusband And WifeChristian Historical RomanceChristian Historical Fiction
Book:In a Grove of Maples
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“I blamed my absent husband for so many things, but I have come to see—life in general is to blame. Edward would have stayed home if there had been another way. I was too stubborn to recognize the truth. What will he say when I meet him at the depot? For that matter, what am I to say? Perhaps neither of us will need to speak. We will embrace and hopefully capture our hearts in our gaze, which will be enough.”

Historical FictionHistorical RomanceChristian Historical RomanceChristian Historical FictionHistorical Fiction Novel
Book:In a Grove of Maples
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“Şi-a nins apoi mereu, iarnă de iarnă , un fulg, mii, stoluri de mii, întuneric alb şi imens de năluciri aparent imateriale căzând şi amestecându-se încă din plutirea lor rânduită şi iute-pieritoare cu însăşi vieţile şi gândurile oamenilor de pe acest pământ iubit şi frumos, lacom de rod şi linişte, de-nţelepciune şi-nnoire, de dăruiri şi perenitate...”

HistoryHistorical FictionVlad The Impaler
Book:Drăculeștii
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“This week’s issue of Publisher’s Weekly includes a full-page Q&A about TORN! The intro reads: “After calling Torn ‘ambitious’ and ‘vividly detailed’ and saying it ‘demonstrates that Snodgrass knows his patch of America like Faulkner knew Yoknapatawpha,’ it’s no wonder BookLife Reviews designated it an Editor’s Pick. We spoke with the author about his long-running series and its historical inspiration.” See the full Q&A on page 77 of the Sept. 15, 2025 issue!”

Historical FictionLiterary FictionAuthor Q ABooklifePublishers WeeklyRichard Snodgrass
Author:Richard Snodgrass
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“Some writers don't believe they're ready to begin writing the story until they've finished all the research they can think of to do — until they're sure of everything. That's a logical approach, of course. The more factual knowledge, the less likelihood you'll have to throw out a lot of glorious prose when you find out that something you assumed to be true wasn't. But one problem with delaying your start until the research is all done is that the research is never all done.”

Historical FictionOn WritingHistorical Research
Book:The Art and Craft of Writing Historical Fiction: Researching and Writing Historical Fiction
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“Before you're ready to tell that story well, you might have to study and learn the equivalent of an entire specialized college education on the society in which your story takes place, because all sorts of things were happening that you need to understand before you can even begin to tell a story in that milieu.”

Historical FictionOn WritingHistorical Research
Book:The Art and Craft of Writing Historical Fiction: Researching and Writing Historical Fiction
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“Ready yourselves!' Mullone heard himself say, which was strange, he thought, for he knew his men were prepared. A great cry came from beyond the walls that were punctuated by musket blasts and Mullone readied himself for the guns to leap into action. Mullone felt a tremor. The ground shook and then the first rebels poured through the gates like an oncoming tide. Mullone saw the leading man; both hands gripping a green banner, face contorted with zeal. The flag had a white cross in the centre of the green field and the initials JF below it. John Fitzstephen. Then, there were more men behind him, tens, then scores. And then time seemed to slow. The guns erupted barely twenty feet from them. Later on, Mullone would remember the great streaks of flame leap from the muzzles to lick the air and all of the charging rebels were shredded and torn apart in one terrible instant. Balls ricocheted on stone and great chunks were gouged out by the bullets. Blood sprayed on the walls as far back as the arched gateway, limbs were shorn off, and Mullone watched in horror as a bloodied head tumbled down the sloped street towards the barricade. 'Jesus sweet suffering Christ!' Cahill gawped at the carnage as the echo of the big guns resonated like a giant's beating heart. Trooper O'Shea bent to one side and vomited at the sight of the twitching, bleeding and unrecognisable lumps that had once been men. A man staggered with both arms missing. Another crawled back to the gate with a shattered leg spurting blood. The stench of burnt flesh and the iron tang of blood hung ripe and nauseating in the oppressive air. One of the low wooden cabins by the wall was on fire. A blast of musketry outside the walls rattled against the stonework and a redcoat toppled backwards onto the cabin's roof as the flames fanned over the wood. 'Here they come again! Ready your firelocks! Do not waste a shot!' Johnson shouted in a steady voice as the gateway became thick with more rebels. He took a deep breath. 'God forgive us,' Corporal Brennan said. 'Liberty or death!' A rebel, armed with a blood-stained pitchfork, shouted over-and-over.”

ActionDeathFictionLibertyHistoryRebellionHistorical FictionIrelandMissionQuestUnrestAction AdventureInsurrectionEbookGeorgian1798
Book:Liberty or Death
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“Such immediate sliding into fiction under the guise of history reveals a remarkable fluidity between history and fiction that, while pertinent to innumerable portrayals of historical personages of other eras and nationalities, seems to acquire a particularly transformational narrative power in the case of Don Carlos.”

TheaterHistorical FictionOperaFrench LiteratureSchillerSpanish History
Book:The Don Carlos Enigma: Variations Of Historical Fictions
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“Thus, "Nenne mich Du" might be the emblematic phrase of this character: the Infante's invitation - in Schiller's words - to both creators and readers/audiences to 'name' him beyond his historical identifier Don Carlos - and all of its variants of Dom Carlos, Don Karlos, Don Carlo. Naming him, in this case, does not mean giving him another name, but calling him into being, endowing him with an identity shaped by an envisioned course of events and actions that lead to an ending. This phrase represents the mystery behind the character and Schiller's disclaimer that what the public is reading or seeing can never be the real Don Karlos - history's Don Carlos remains, largely, an unknown.”

TheaterHistorical FictionGermanSchillerSpanish History
Book:The Don Carlos Enigma: Variations Of Historical Fictions
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