Quotes About Tale

Since your father has escaped my justice, it is you who must hear my words. Words. You keep saying... Because that was the gift your father gave to me. And the curse that ruined me as well, changed my life to wretched misery. There are hours yet before the guard comes - nay, eons. An eternity, in fact. This is my time, Miranda. Now you will have your words back: before I kill you, you will hear my tale... and you will know what you have done.

When we return--when I have delivered our discovery--I will give you a book to read about a thing called wild magic, she said drily. I wouldn't talk about it in the university. It's supposed to be an old wives' tale. Well, I am an old wife. You might be interested, that's all.

I died and then was brought to life, the oldest tale there is. I

So, at the last, a story.

The story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the obvious remark that it was gruesome, as, on Christmas Eve in an old house, a strange tale should essentially be, I remember no comment uttered till somebody happened to say that it was the only case he had met in which such a visitation had fallen on a child.

The story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the obvious remark that it was gruesome, as, on Christmas Eve in an old house, a strange tale should essentially be

there is a French version of the story, and a true one.

If I imagine the genesis of a novelist in the form of an exemplary tale, a myth, that genesis looks to me like a conversion story: Saul becoming Paul; the novelist being born from the ruins of his lyrical world.

'Tis an old tale, and often told; But did my fate and wish agree, Ne'er had been read, in story old, Of maiden true betray'd for gold, That loved, or was avenged, like me!

O Muse, tell me the story Of all these things, O Goddess, daughter of Zeus Beginning wherever you wish, tell even us.

A legend is merely a history man decided to bugger.

You've heard tales of beauty and the beast. How a fair maid falls in love with a monster and sees the beauty of his soul beneath the hideous visage. But you've never heard the tale of the handsome man falling for the monstrous woman and finding joy in her love, because it doesn't happen, not even in a story-teller's tale.

There is a tale, as old as the Ancient Ones themselves, that one would arise who has that gift: to sing all the chantments, the high notes and the low, the swift rhythms and the slow. And this person would be more powerful than even the Ancient Ones were, as powerful as the gods themselves.

Listen, my father had written. Listen to hear if they are telling the truth or only part of the truth, for that is the lesson of history: that the victors tell the tale of their triumph in a manner to grant accolades to themselves and heap blame upon their rivals. Ask yourself if part of the story is being withheld by design or ignorance.

Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

Voices in the forest tell of dark and twisted enchantments - as dark and twisted as the roots and grasping branches of the trees themselves. Even the most gnarled tree is eloquent in the telling of its own tale.

Hardly any other tale from Vienna was as interesting as learning from an eyewitness whether the Empress was truly as beautiful as it was said.

but sing no more this bitter tale that wears my heart away

The narrator commands the Muse, "Tell me": enn-epe. An epic poem is, at its root, simply a tale that is told.

Never trust the artist. Trust the tale. The proper function of the critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it.

In reporting, you will often be humbled by the courage others have in telling and trusting you with their tale, no two alike.

Because they imply a unity that does not exist. Only rarely does a life have a theme, and even then such themes exist in confusion and uncertainty, and are only described by others once that life has come to an end. A tale is the binding of themes to a past, because no tale can be told as it is happening.

No doubt there's a tale there.' 'Indeed, but it's not relevant.' 'Meaning you don't know it.' 'Precisely.

The empress of Pharinet's tale was perhaps the kind of mother Varencienne would have liked to have had all along: a priestess, a sorcererss, with a forgotten book of secret knowledge. Her own fantasies could not have provided a more perfect history. Yet this Tatrini lived only in Pharinet's words. Varencienne would need proof for herself.