Urban Fantasy Quotes

“He pinches one of the petals and breaks it away from the flower. It doesn't feel like it's as powerful as it is, but maybe that's just how powerful things are- like the zmory, like Baba Jaga herself, they don't always need to declare themselves.”
― Veronica Roth, When Among Crows

“A life for a life, huh, Red?" He grins at me. "You broke me out of a cell once. Now it's my turn.”
― K.V. Wilson, Incarnate

“Nessie cackles, tossing back her head of matted brunette locks, wildly beautiful even in a state of disarray.
”
― K.V. Wilson, Guardian

“When next we meet, all of your bonds shall be severed. By the light that guides me, I shall see it done.”
― K.V. Wilson, Guardian

“Nessie cackles, tossing back her head of matted brunette locks, wildly beautiful even in a state of disarray. "Thought ye could get rid of me, Nwyfre? You're a damned fool, boy. Forever I'm yours. Forever and beyond.”
― K.V. Wilson, Guardian

“Every heart has its own melody. You know mine”
― Cassandra Clare, The Infernal Devices: Clockwork Prince

“You have to remember so you can heal.”
― Yasmine Maher, Where Blue Roses Bloom

“Dystopolis by Stewart Stafford

Phantasmagoria in the mirror,
A bribed witness is my whore,
Plastic surgery getting dearer,
I must go work out my core.

Swallowing carcinogen smog,
Painful panting, freezing air,
Neutered day of the old dog,
On my hamster wheel there.

Crawled down to the plague pits,
Crab-like, they crept up on me,
Sour milk séance of the obits,
Drowning in a mausoleum sea.

Mild convulsions on a night cold,
Cram triage bodies in my bed,
Fights reheated getting so old,
Awake to find myself dead.

© Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“The very fact of being a witch wasn't too impressive in Craw Valley; it was well known but rarely acknowledged that some in the community could get rid of warts with the touch of a hand, or blow out the fire in a burn. But the Bucks were notorious for their special talents and ability to perform powerful mountain magic, and Lee was next in their illustrious line.”
― Alli Dyer, Strange Folk

“MANHATTAN: THE RISING WAR is a lush, sweeping epic tale of the towers that define our landscape. Sal Cosenza paints an irresistible and exciting world that will pull readers in and keep them turning pages long into the night.”
― Lauren Smith

“What he found was astonishing. Every wall was plastered with posters and flyers. Some were like the ones he'd seen on the brick wall at King's Cross; others seemed to advertise specific market traders. Some were old and faded; some seemed much more recent. Some sounded quite ordinary-- Cocksfoot & Sable: Fine Ales and Cheeses; Clancy's Rustic Furnishings-- and some were more unusual. Tom frowned over Yellow Belle's Night-Woven Yarns, and felt his heart beat faster at Spindle Ermine's Love Spells. What kind of a market was this? He thought he understood Bird-Cherry's Flowers and Fruits, or Straw Dot's Most Accurate Timepieces, and even Scarlet Tiger Sleeve Tattoos-- but what was he to make of Pretty Pinion Wing Repairs or Mother Shipton, Laundress of Dreams, or Pale Eggar's Glamours and Charms, or Dusky Sallow's Evercoats?”
― Joanne Harris, The Moonlight Market

“In the semi-darkness, Tom thought he saw faces-- or were they masks?-- that seemed to be covered in feathers or fur. And there was a summery scent of sun-ripened fruit; of night-blooming flowers; of new-baked bread; and frying mushrooms, and bilberry wine, and sandalwood, and cedar, and musk; and fresh-laundered sheets all wild from the wind. Now he could hear music, too; the sound of flutes and fiddles and distant voices raised in song; the soft, persistent rhythms of drums; the distant chirp of silver bells.”
― Joanne Harris, The Moonlight Market

“Walking over the moonlit bridge, Tom found himself drawn deeper and deeper into the world of the market. Here, it was crowded, noisy; buzzing with scents both familiar and strange. The sharp aroma of some herbal stuff seemed to dominate this part of the bridge; the scented smoke was strongest around a little stall named Madcap, from which a pipe-smoking vendor was selling brightly colored pouches, marked at the price of Three days a twist. Next to him, a person of indeterminate gender was folding sheets of colored paper into origami birds, which they released into the air with a papery flutter of wings.
In spite of the crow woman's warning, Tom snapped a few more pictures. A dancer on the side of the bridge, her wings spread wide against the night. A diminutive woman with a whole haberdasher's shop balanced on her head: tiny drawers full of bobbins and lace, and packs of slender needles, and pincushions, and safety pins, and multicolored twists of silk. Next to her, cross-legged on the ground, an old woman in a drab overcoat was making garlands and buttonholes from baskets of strange-looking flowers that released an unfamiliar, intoxicating aroma. Her brown face lit up when she caught sight of Tom.
'Collector! What's it to be today? Another adventure? Your heart's desire? I know. True love!' And she picked up a white flower from one of her baskets and held it out to him with a smile. Its scent was complex, dark and sweet; the scent of a summer garden at night.”
― Joanne Harris, The Moonlight Market

“Are you with Vanessa?' said Tom.
He wasn't sure why he'd asked that, but there was something about them that reminded him of Vanessa's friends. Something vaguely theatrical; a shout of color against the grime. A shine, which was more than the warmth of their skin or the luminous quality of their eyes. Just as Charissa and her friend had seemed to be creatures of the night, these people were the opposite. Light seemed to radiate from them somehow, reflecting against the sooty stones.
The little girl smiled. 'I'm Swallowtail. This is Argus. We're friends of Vanessa's. We'll take you to her.'
And, catching Tom's hand in hers, she and Argus led him through the silent streets of King's Cross, towards his doom and his heart's desire.”
― Joanne Harris, The Moonlight Market

“What does one wear when meeting their dreamland sex toy at a church anyway?”
― Madison Chase, Dance with the Devil

“I love how mortals paint such a darling picture of me–” He pinched the bridge of his nose as though fighting off a headache. “No, Charlotte. Because I marked you and therefore that makes you mine until I see fit.”
― Madison Chase, Dance with the Devil

“Come on, Charlotte. Admit it. You’ve had a taste, but you want a full meal. You can’t wait for me to expose the parts of you trapped by shame and propriety that scream for someone to come along and rip open and leave bare to the world.”
― Madison Chase, Dance with the Devil

“Everything about this was a bad idea, but sometimes loneliness was so much more unbearable than the consequences.”
― Madison Chase, Dance with the Devil

“Girl meets guy, guy annoys girl, guy kidnaps girl, guy reveals he’s the dark under lord, girl shoots guy, girl nearly hooks up with ex-husband, guy kidnaps her again. It couldn’t behave been a more ridiculous scenario if it had been the plot of some book. One where the author had to be off her freakin’ nut .”
― Madison Chase, Dance with the Devil

“Necessity is the mother of all change.”
― Madison Chase, Dance with the Devil

“If she were to die tonight here in the Grove, she would go happily. Come what may, she would fight until she couldn’t and if death happened to take her hand, she would gladly walk with him and let the scent of pine, coffee and aftershave carry her into the afterlife. Tessa would walk through that Valley of Death.

She would fear no shadow, for that shadow and the valley were hers for the taking.”
― C. Alexis, Teeth So Sharp & Deadly

“Personally, I think “Mothman” is a misnomer, since he’s not so much a “moth”-man as an “Oh-dear-GOD-is-that-a-radioactive-demon-owl-from-the-fifth-circle-of-hell”-man.”
― J.D. Donnelly

“she found home between his arms”
― Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince

“What girl wouldn’t want to be chased by a sword wielding, angelic looking man with perfect bone structure and soul crushing eyes?”
― J.A. Jude, Supernova

“Not knowing how he had come to sit behind the steering wheel, he considered driving into town for help but was too fucked up to walk much less commandeer Emma’s truck. The hike into the canyon where her body would be—500 feet beneath the Claw and at least a 90-minute jog from the truck—was too much to consider, the stream requiring being forded at least a dozen times. Paralyzed by indecision and the horror of seeing her jump, he pounded the steering wheel with palms, tears soaking his face, collecting like dew drops in the wiry strands of his beard. “What the fuck? What the fucking fuck? Goddammit Emma…”
Desiring nothing other than to have her back, he felt the urge to lie down on the seat and cry himself into oblivion, having no more control over himself than he had over the way Powerball had spun the universe, spitting out random equations from a spinning cage. So maybe, his mind conspired, she didn’t jump and was still wandering around the Claw, lost, searching him out. But the image of her stretching her arms wide and leaping was crystalline in its authenticity, tangible and substantial.
She’s not here. The voice returned, stripping earthly context from reality. Go look somewhere else.
“...the other half found me stumbling around and drunk on burgundy wine,” the tape player shattered his thoughts as though someone had thrown a large rock through the windshield, the engine suddenly idling. Like it just happened on its own, there was no way he’d touched the key. Fumbling for the cassette deck’s knobs, he watched his hand disappear into the dash, lacking mass or substance, sensation, an immaterial thing dangling uselessly from the end of his arm. Outside the truck, the mountain and trees pivoted, the world turning on a spindle, the turnout giving way to the meadow and the rutted path back to the gate. Gooch watched the speedometer needle bounce back and forth, wind tumbling the dashboard trash and debris so that everything danced against the windshield in time to the music.
“I’ll get up and fly away….”
― James R McQuiggin, A Rare and Different Tune: Book Two in the Powerball Trilogy

“I never thought a ghost could cry until I welled up at the sight of blood running down his forehead.”
― Yasmine Maher, Where Blue Roses Bloom

“I was a ghost—an invisible, claustrophobic ghost who wouldn’t go without a fight.”
― Yasmine Maher, Where Blue Roses Bloom

“She burns alone in the empty space She’s like a star. From a distance, you see her glowing, a guide for lost travelers. But when you get close, you know she’s lonelier than anyone else.”
― Yasmine Maher, Where Blue Roses Bloom

“It was a moment of choice. I could watch and collect some gruesome memories in my soon-to-be-dead brain. Or I could save him, risking another heart attack.”
― Yasmine Maher, Where Blue Roses Bloom

“I love you.” The words fell from my
lips, more certain than any promise,
more freeing than any escape.
I love you, I said it again in my heart.”
― Yasmine Maher, Where Blue Roses Bloom