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Historical Fiction Quotes

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Historical Fiction Quotes

“Red Army soldier Danylo could only sleep while moving – in transport – and even that could hardly be called sleep at all.”

WarHistorical FictionWorld War IiUkraine War1941Red ArmyMilitary FictionMilitary LifeSoviet HistoryUssr History
Book:Камень. Биографический роман. Книга вторая. Непростые дороги в ад: Выживание в условиях насилия
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“This is my home, however unsettled it has always been on the inside. I've never thought of it as the place I might die in before I've had a chance to live. There must be a life beyond this fort that I feel so trapped inside. It can't end this way before it's even begun. A meaningless life ended by meaningless death. The silence around me is of a city that has warred with itself all day and is now pretending to sleep. I am sick of pretending. I want to stay up, keep watch, turn on every light in every home so no one can sneak up on us in the dark.”

InspirationalWarHistorical Fiction
Book:The Lucky Ones: A Memoir
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“And if he was kind and friendly and funny, and if he told you about places so beautiful that you wanted to go with him to see them, and if he listened to you talk like he actually cared about what you were saying? And if he tried to protect you when other people tried to tell you what to do, as if they owned you? And if he has the handsomest face you've ever seen, no matter if the skin has been damaged, because he's just lovely even so?”

LoveKindRomanceYoung AdultSensitiveFriendlyHistorical FictionInner BeautyHistorical RomanceProtectivePaulLorna
Book:Wait for Me
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“None of the other kids my age has to do all the grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, and bill paying. It’s just not fair that I have to be an adult when I’m still a kid.”

FamilyChildhoodResilienceComing Of AgeHistorical FictionEmotional TruthBook Club PickHeartfelt Reads
Book:A Stone's Throw: A heartwarming story of a city girl and her rancher grandfather turning adversity into love and community
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“Each morning comes along and you assume it will be similar enough to the previous one-- that you will be safe, that your family will be alive, that you will be together, that life life will remain mostly as it was. Then a moment arrives and everything changes. Images of the city to the south speed through his consciousness, but he has seen neither a city nor a likeness of one and does not know what to imagine, and his visions intermingle with Grandfather's tales of talking foxes and moon-spiders, of towers made of glass and bridges between the stars.”

FamilyFantasyHardshipComing Of AgeHistorical Fiction
Book:Cloud Cuckoo Land
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“Each morning comes along and you assume it will be similar enough to the previous one-- that you will be safe, that your family will be alive, that you will be together, that life will remain mostly as it was. Then a moment arrives and everything changes. Images of the city to the south speed through his consciousness, but he has seen neither a city nor a likeness of one and does not know what to imagine, and his visions intermingle with Grandfather's tales of talking foxes and moon-spiders, of towers made of glass and bridges between the stars.”

FamilyChildhoodComing Of AgeHistorical FictionHistorical FantasyOttoman Empire
Book:Cloud Cuckoo Land
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“N’ another thing,” Mitch said reaching into his pocket. “I made ya this,” he continued, opening his hand to reveal a ring. “Yer gonna be causin’ lots of talk ’round here ‘bout where ya came from n’ why yer boy ain’t got no papa here ‘bouts. I sanded the high spots so it’ll shine when ya hold it to th’ light. Ye can determine if ye wants to wear it.” she smiled as she slipped it onto the finger of her left hand. “I will wear it until I see no need.”

RomanceHistorical FictionTennesseeNorth CarolinaRevolutionary WarCherokeeDragging CanoeOvermountainStrings The Story Of HopeSycamore Shoals
Book:Strings: The Story of Hope
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“My Beth. Sitting patient in the shadow Till the blessed light shall come, A serene and saintly presence Sanctifies our troubled home Earthly joys, and hope, and sorrows, Break like ripples on the strand Of the deep and solemn river Where her willing feet now stand. Oh, my sister, passing from me, Out of human care and strife, Leave me, as a gift, those virtues which have beautified your life. Dear, bequeath me that great patience Which has power to sustain A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit In its prison-house of pain. Give me, for I need it sorely, Of that courage, wise and sweet, Which has made the path of duty Green beneath your willing feet. Give me that unselfish nature, That with charity divine Can pardon wrong for love's dear sake- Meek heart, forgive me mine! Thus our parting daily loseth Something of its bitter pain, And while learning this hard lesson, My great loss becomes gain. For the touch of grief will render My wild nature more serene, Give to life new aspirations- A new trust in the unseen. Henceforth, safe across the river, I shall see forever more A beloved, household spirit Waiting for me on the shore. Hope and faith, born of my sorrow, Guardian angels shall become, And the sister gone before me, By their hands shall lead me home.”

LiteratureFictionNovelYoung AdultClassicHistorical Fiction
Book:Little Women
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“At the Unity High School in the heart of Khartoum, a place pulsing with ease and luxury, I graduated with a Cambridge certificate. Though far from stupid, studying was simply not my passion at the time. I harboured no desire to become a doctor, a lawyer, or a chemist; my only wants were a home, a man who does not lie, a room in the shade of a tree, and a child to carry my name. However, upon drawing closer to examine everything at close range, I realised that I do not belong here. I have no place in a world that perfects the art of smiling to one's face, only to strike with stabs in the back the moment one turns away.”

NovelHistorical FictionColonialismTranslationSudan
Author:Mohamed Al-Mustafa Musa
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“A baby fortunate to survive long enough to acquire the gift of speech learned quickly about the world into which she was born. There was likelihood she would never have a chance to use such words as “mother” or “father.” Instead she would learn terms like “Stolen” and “Thief” right after she learned her own name. But no matter the circumstances and through a process none of us could explain, she would always remember the seven words whispered in her ear.”

NovelHistorical FictionAfrican American Authors
Book:Yonder
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“Antanas eased up on the accelerator and pulled the truck onto the shoulder. The sound of the soldiers' footsteps crunching in the snow made Maria sit up straight. The truck had driven about thirty metres past the patrol, but none of the soldiers had fired upon them. Antanas hoped fervently that the transport documents that Peter had furnished him would pass inspection. Maria reached down and touched a metal pipe concealed beneath her seat. She was prepared to use it. Jadwyga continued to pray quietly. "Mother Mary, spare me, Maria, and the other women from rape, and Antanas from death." As a sergeant approached the truck, Jadwyga's stomach cramped, sweat broke out on her forehead, and her arms began to shake. Then she fainted. Maria propped Jadwyga up to make it look as though she was sleeping, and then smiled at the sergeant who was rapping on the glass. Antanas rolled down his window.”

NovelHistorical FictionNazi GermanyIndie AuthorLithuanianWwii HistoryWwii FictionForced LaborLithuanian LiteratureEastern Front
Book:Caught Between Two Devils
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“He found Granny on the porch, asleep. Her chin sat on her chest, rising and falling with her breath. He gathered her up in his arms, light as a girl, and carried her inside to her room. He covered her in her old handed-down quilt. The outer layers were burnished to a luster over decades of sleeping flesh, the inner batting composed of older blankets still. He tucked it under her feet, her elbows and shoulders, and went out into the den and opened the door of the wood stove. A mouth of red coals. He added two lengths of the seasoned white oak they kept stacked on the porch, hot-burning wood for cold nights, and stoked it to a fury before stepping outside.”

NovelHistorical FictionSouthern Gothic
Book:Gods of Howl Mountain
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“Irani, la madre di Kulìa, si avviò a passo deciso verso il centro del villaggio, portando una coppa di infuso del mattino, bollente. Si sedette a fianco alla Madre, la salutò con gentilezza e le offrì la bevanda. - Ti sei svegliata presto, Madre. Bevi. - Avrei voluto svegliarmi prima, figlia. - Perché? - Avrei smesso di sognare. Non era un buon sogno. Tutto era alla rovescia e nessuno rimetteva le cose a posto. - Alla rovescia? Cosa? - Tutto, Irani, tutto era alla rovescia. Le persone, la vita, gli alberi. Le persone giacevano a terra ferite e morte, le donne venivano portate via per i capelli, i bambini sudavano tutto il giorno costretti a lavorare, gli alberi erano grigi e morti, il fumo era dappertutto. - La Madre continuava a stringersi la testa con le mani. Irani non l’aveva mai vista così - Cosa pensi che significhi, Madre? Intorno tutto era così verde, le persone erano in giro per il villaggio o sulla spiaggia, i bambini giocavano, a nessuno sarebbe passato per la testa di trascinare una donna per i capelli. La visione della Madre era la visione dell’impossibile. - Non lo so. Sembra impossibile ma pareva che tutti fossero abituati a vivere alla rovescia, come se fosse normale. Ho visto persone riccamente che davano ordini a persone vestite di stracci e queste si inchinavano. Ho visto donne chiuse da maschi in luoghi da cui non si poteva uscire. Bambini che non avevano cibo. - Madre, ciò è impossibile. Le donne sono le creatrici rispettate da tutti, i bambini mangiano sempre per primi, nessuno si inchina a nessun altro, siamo un popolo di gente libera. - Non capisci, era tutto alla rovescia. Tutto, ti dico. I villaggi non erano villaggi, non finivano mai, continuavano sempre. La campagna era lontana giorni e giorni di marcia. Non c’era un fiume in cui lavarsi, non c’erano orti da coltivare, le persone morivano e altre persone gli passavano accanto senza vederle, le persone non si salutavano, Irani. Le persone non si conoscevano. - Hai sognato ciò che non può essere, Madre. Hai sognato il contrario della vita, della libertà, della gioia. Perché dovrebbe succedere una cosa simile? Chi vorrebbe vivere così? Nessuno, Madre, e non può succedere. - Succederà, l’ho visto e l’ho sentito, le ossa mi fanno male da quanto sto soffrendo. La testa mi scoppia per quello che sto pensando. Non credo che vivrò ancora a lungo, non credo che potrò più dormire. Convoca il consiglio.”

NovelHistorical FictionHistorical RomanceAnthropologyNovelsNarrativaAntropologiaRomanzoRomanzo StoricoGilania
Book:I racconti di domani
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“- Hai parlato con qualcuna di loro? La vecchia chinò il capo, quella Irani vedeva lontano, sarebbe stata la prossima Madre. Questo la rasserenò un poco. - Sì, ho parlato con una donna. - E cosa ti ha detto? - Le ho chiesto cosa fosse successo al suo popolo. «Ha dimenticato», mi ha risposto. «Ha dimenticato che la vita viene prima della morte, che le donne vengono prima degli uomini, che la natura viene prima ancora». Le ho chiesto da quanto tempo avesse dimenticato. «Alcune migliaia di anni», mi ha risposto. «Può la tua gente recuperare la memoria?» le ho chiesto. «Certo, quelli come me non l’hanno mai persa». «Perché non glielo insegni?». «Lo faccio, ma è difficile. L’abbiamo sempre fatto, ma è stato difficile. Tante donne, meno uomini. Siamo stati isolati, perseguitati, uccisi, bruciati, ma l’abbiamo fatto e continueremo a farlo». «Chi ha fatto perdere la memoria a tutta questa gente?». «La paura, la violenza, la pigrizia, l’abitudine. Ci furono uomini che hanno pensato di poter possedere altri uomini, anzi prima di tutto di poter possedere donne e bambini, e se li presero con la forza bruta. Gli altri protestarono ma finirono col subire. Persino le donne accettarono, non tutte ma la maggioranza. La storia è lunga ma vedi tu stessa come viviamo adesso». «State vivendo alla rovescia. Come fate a vivere alla rovescia?». «Con molta sofferenza, rincorrendo la felicità, cercando la gioia anche dove sembra ci sia solo dolore, affannosamente, sapendo in qualche modo che tutto potrebbe essere diverso». «La Dea ha permesso tutto ciò?». «Gli umani l’hanno permesso. La Dea è stata scelta dagli umani. Ora è pieno di Dei maschi». «Come andrà a finire?». «Ritroveremo la memoria, ma non basterà, dobbiamo inventare un nuovo modo di vivere». «Non è sufficiente rimettere semplicemente le cose a posto, come sono per il mio popolo?». Mi ha sorriso e ha scosso la testa. Poi mi sono svegliata.”

NovelHistorical FictionHistorical RomanceAnthropologyNovelsNarrativaAntropologiaRomanzoRomanzo StoricoGilaniaGylany
Author:Sara Morace
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“Its magnificence was indescribable, and its magnitude was inconceivable. She felt overwhelmed in the presence of its greatness. Pg 87”

BookFictionNovelNew YorkImmigrationHistorical FictionWorld War IWomen S RightsItalyProhibitionSuffrage1920sStatue Of LibertyWwiEllis IslandCafe SocietyHell S KitchenSuffragist MovementForty Years In A DayItalian American Book40 Years And A Day40 Years In A DayBest Historical FictionDianne VigoritoMona MarzanoMona RodriguezNew Historical FictionTop Fiction
Author:Mona Rodriguez FORTY YEARS IN A DAY
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“Confession is good for the soul even after the soul has been claimed” (p. 381).”

BookFictionNovelNew YorkImmigrationHistorical FictionWorld War IWomen S RightsItalyProhibitionSuffrage1920sStatue Of LibertyWwiEllis IslandCafe SocietyHell S KitchenSuffragist MovementForty Years In A DayItalian American Book40 Years And A Day40 Years In A DayBest Historical FictionDianne VigoritoMona MarzanoMona RodriguezNew Historical FictionTop Fiction
Author:Mona Rodriguez FORTY YEARS IN A DAY
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