Faeries Quotes

“Unseelie dreams make unseelie fae.”
― Luna Lindsey, Emerald City Dreamer

“You won't find the tales I bear in any books . . . My tales are from the Moon Realm.” —Ebb Autumn”
― Richard Due, The Moon Coin

“In all likelihood fairies of larger stature were ancient gods in a state of decay, while their diminutive congeners were the swarming spirits of primitive imagination.”
― Lewis Spence, British Fairy Origins

“It is said that faerie children are not like mortal children. They need little in the way of love. They need not be tucked in at night, but may sleep just as happily in a cold corner of a ballroom, curled up in a tablecloth. They need not be fed; they are just as happy lapping up dew and skimming bread and cream from the kitchens. They need not be comforted, since they seldom weep.

But if faerie children need little love, faerie princes require some counsel.”
― Holly Black, The Queen of Nothing

“Your mortal lover has a mind like crystals," she said. "Sharp and cold. I would like her for my own."
"That's very thoughtful of you," was all he said in reply to this statement, which was appalling on a great many levels.
"Truly," the woman pressed. "Would you trade her? Your power is of the summerlands, but I will gift you with the hand of winter."
"Thank you," Wendell said; he seemed to be struggling to hold back laughter. "But I am satisfied with my hands as they are. And unless you have a key to my forest kingdom across the sea, I will not be trading my mortal lover today."
I was going to kill him.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“Pryseis didn’t see goblin. She saw child.”
― Renee Wildes, Dust of Dreams

“In my view the study of fairy origins assumes a greater degree of importance than popular opinion is wont to concede to it. Indeed, the ideas associated with it strike at the very roots of human belief and primitive methods of reasoning. It is scarcely to be questioned that the explanation of fairy origins is of the utmost value to the better comprehension of primitive religion. Later it will be made clear that, for the writer at least, the whole tradition of Faerie reveals quite numerous and excellent proofs of its former existence as a primitive and separate cult and faith, more particularly as regards its appearance and tradition in these islands.”
― Lewis Spence, British Fairy Origins

“Some discussion of the nature and temperament of the fairies is necessary in view of its possible bearing on their origin. J. G. Campbell tells us that in the Highlands of Scotland they were regarded as "the counterparts of mankind, but substantial and unreal, outwardly invisible." They differ from mortals in the possession of magical power, but are strangely dependent in many ways on man. They are generally considered by the folk at large as of a nature between spirits and men. "They are," says Wentz, "a distinct race between our own and that of spirits.”
― Lewis Spence, British Fairy Origins

“But—" yelped Twizbang, “Greydor will eat us!”
― Richard Due, The Moon Coin

“All three of the English types I have mentioned can, I think, be accounted for as the results of the presence of different cultures, existing side by side in the country, and who were the creation of the folk in ages distantly removed one from another. In a word, they represent specific " strata" of folk-imagination. The most diminutive of all are very probably to be associated with a New Stone Age conception of spirits which haunted burial-mounds and rude stone monuments. We find such tiny spirits haunting the great stone circles of Brittany. The "Small People," or diminutive fairies of Cornwall, says Hunt, are believed to be "the spirits of people who inhabited Cornwall many thousands of years ago. "The spriggans, of the same area, are a minute and hirsute family of fairies" found only about the cairns, cromlechs, barrows, or detached stones, with which it is unlucky to meddle." Of these, the tiny fairies of Shakespeare, Drayton, and the Elizabethans appear to me to be the later representatives. The latter are certainly not the creation of seventeenth-century poets, as has been stated, but of the aboriginal folk of Britain.”
― Lewis Spence, British Fairy Origins

“I followed his gaze on my pillow, upon which rested a thing I did not recognize, woolen and oddly shaped.
I seized it abruptly, indignant. It was my jumper! "How---what have you---"
"I'm sorry," he said, not looking up from the flicker and flash of the needle. "But you cannot expect me to live in close proximity to clothing that barely deserves the word. It is inhumane."
I shook out the jumper, gaping. I could hardly tell it was the same garment. Yes, it was the same color, but the wool itself seemed altered, becoming softer, finer, without losing any of its warmth. And it was not a baggy square anymore; it would hang only a little loose on me now, while clearly communicating the lines of my figure.
"From now on, you will keep your damned hands off my clothes!" I snapped, then flushed, realizing how that sounded. Bambleby took no notice of any of it.
"Do you know that there are men and women who would hand over their firstborns to have their wardrobes tended by a king of Faerie?" he said, calmly snipping a thread. "Back home, every courtier wanted a few moments of my time."
"King?" I repeated, staring at him. And yet I was not hugely surprised---it would explain his magic. A king or queen of Faerie, the stories say, can tap into the power of their realm. Yet that power, while vast, is not thought to be limitless, there are tales of kings and queens falling for human trickery. And Bambleby's exile is of course additional testimony.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“You could simply tell them you prefer silver." For this is the customary offering in Ireland, at least for the courtly fae. Almost every species of Folk disdains human metals, yet the Irish fae are unique in their ability to tolerate---and, indeed, to love---silver. It is said that they fill their vast, dark forests with silver mirrors like jewels, which drink in the little sun and starlight that penetrates the boughs and reflect it back at the will of the Folk; it is also said that they use silver to construct fantastical staircases that wind up and up those vast trunks, and bridges that hang between them like delicate necklaces.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“Faeries despise humans as liars, but there are different kinds of lying. Since you and I first came to Faerie, Jude, we've lied to each other plenty. We've pretended to be fine, pretended the possibility of being fine into existence. And when pretending seemed like it might be too hard, we just didn't ask each other the questions that would require it. We smiled and forced laughter and rolled our eyes at the Folk, as though we weren't afraid, when we were both scared all the time.

And if there were hairline cracks in all that pretending, we pretended those away, too.”
― Holly Black, The Lost Sisters

“We- the Folk- don't love like you do,' Locke said. 'Perhaps you shouldn't trust me with your heart. I might break it.”
― Holly Black, The Lost Sisters

“All dryadologists accept the existence of those doors that lead to individual faerie homes and villages, such as those inhabited by the common fae. Theories about a second class of door are more controversial, but I myself believe highly credible, given the stories we have of the courtly fae. These are thought to be doors that lead deep into Faerie, into a world wholly separate from our own.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“Below us was a frozen lake. It was perfectly round, a great gleaming eye in which the moon and stars were mirrored. Lanterns glowing the same cold white as the aurora dangled from the lake's edge to a scattering of benches and merchant-stands, draped in bright awnings of opal and blue. Delicious smells floated on the wind---smoked fish; fire-roasted nuts and candies; spiced cakes. A winter fair.*


* Outside of Russia, almost all known species of courtly fae, and many common fae also, are fond of fairs and markets; indeed, such gatherings appear in stories as the interstitial spaces between their worlds and ours, and thus it is not particularly surprising that they feature in so many encounters with the Folk. The character of such markets, however, varies widely, from sinister to benign. The following features are universal: 1) Dancing, which the mortal visitor may be invited to partake in; 2) A variety of vendors selling foods and goods which the visitor is unable to recall afterwards. More often than not, the markets take place at night. Numerous scholars have attempted to document these gatherings; the most widely referenced accounts are by Baltasar Lenz, who successfully visited two fairs in Bavaria before his disappearance in 1899.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“Many of the gifts were for me. There were jewels and gowns and furs and paintings--- done on ice canvases that made everything bleed together far more than watercolors---and a strange, empty box with a base of some sort of pale velvet that the faerie claimed would sprout white roses with diamonds in them if left outside at midday, and blue roses with rubies if left outside at midnight. There were other nonsensical presents along these lines, including a saddle of shapeless grey leather that would allow me to ride the mountain fog, though no explanation was given as to why I should wish to do this. The only presents I truly appreciated came in the form of ice cream, which the Hidden Ones are obsessed with and cover with sea salt and nectar from their winter flowers.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“It was impossible not to stare at each of them, not only because my encounters with the courtly fae are so rare I could count them on one hand, but because they were more lovely and more disturbing than any faerie I had set eyes on before. The Ljosland Folk had seemed shaped from the harsh landscape of their home, a pattern that seemed to extend to the courtly fae of this realm.
The memory blurs, much as I try to pin it like a butterfly in a display case. The best I can do is record the impressions I've retained: a woman with her hair a cascade of wild roses; a man with tiny leaves dotting his face, like freckles. Several faeries with their skin faintly patterned with whorls, like tree rings, or in the variegated shades of bark. Another woman who flashed silver-blue in the sun, as if she were not made of flesh and blood but a collection of ripples.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“I managed a single glance over my shoulder, and what did my gaze fall upon but my encyclopaedia, pages stacked tidily beneath my paperweight, little bookmarks sticking out the sides indicating sections requiring revision. That pinnacle of faerie scholarship, which I had only weeks ago likened to a museum exhibit of the Folk, neatly pinned down and labelled by the foremost expert on the subject---that is, me---brimming with meticulously documented accounts of foolish mortals who bumbled into faerie plots and games.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“She stepped inside a vestibule with a silver bowl of pure, clear water set on a pedestal made of what Delphine could only assume was a very large, very sturdy zinnia. Was she supposed to wash in it, or was she firmly barred from touching it? She glanced in its shallow depth, and it began to pulse and swirl with pale light. She stepped away quickly. A filmy veil of light separated the interior; she held out a tentative finger, and the light brushed it like organza and separated for her. She stepped through into the Court, sprawling and open to the sky above, yet bound by the pale walls on all sides.
Inside, the Court looked back at her.
Dozens of Fae, gathered in twos and threes, beneath trees of gold and silver and around pools of deep azure blue, inside pavilions made of sheer flower petals and on carpets that must have been woven bird feathers. They all watched her, silently, unmoving. Each was almost painful to look at, beautiful and yet sharp and cold. All of them were arrayed in the spoils of their bargains, with sheer gowns of watercolor silk and robes of pliable silver, elaborate braids adorned with finely wrought metal and tautly bound silk, and even, on a few, wings and horns and talons refashioned from wood and bone and glass. Delphine was terrified of them, and yet also drawn to them. A great and terrible power hummed among them, just below the surface, a nearly tangible potential for change, for creation, for more than anything the world on her own side of the veil could offer.”
― Rowenna Miller, The Fairy Bargains of Prospect Hill

“Some have suggested that the preponderance of trickster stories in folklore ranging from the Norse Loki to the Coyote of the New World may have in their origins stories of bargains gone awry, though the opposite may be as likely to be true--- that stories of human pride's comeuppance are a commonplace theme.
---Changelings and Gambler's Chances: Tales of Fairy Mischief,
by William Fitzgerald”
― Rowenna Miller, The Fairy Bargains of Prospect Hill

“My eyes locked on the hand Devin had placed so gently on Thea's. They were a pair, a team. I didn't know their story, but whatever bond had mated them had clearly made a decision that the two of them could live with. A bond, two souls meant to find each other. Was that something I could really have? Reach for? My attention drifted to the dragon sitting next to me in the booth, and under the table I slid my fingers next to his until I could hook my pinky with his.”
― Sabrina Blackburry, Dirty Lying Dragons

“Lady Georgina of the Summer Court," Heather added.
I turned in my seat to see two fae in the parking lot through the glass front door. The girl was on fire. Like, literally on fire. Her clothes had burned off, but you couldn't see much of her. You know, through the fucking fire.
"What is going on?" I asked.
"She's having some hot flashes." Thea came to stand near our table and crossed her arms with a sigh. "Alan is there trying to cool her off. The pregnancy has been rough on her."
I looked at the flaming fae again, and sure enough a big ginger dude with a wild beard was waving his hands in the direction of his mate, spraying her with a mist of water. He might have been trying to put out the fire or just trying to simmer it down.
"I've heard about this," Jerod said, standing up and tapping his chin. "You've had a little baby boom over here, haven't you?"
"Something like that." Thea met Devin's gaze, pressing her lips in an attempt not to smile, and went over to the door to greet them.
"The faerie gate is," Heather paused, "overcorrecting for a previous problem we'd had. Let's leave it at that."
I looked up at Ryker, who was watching the flaming fae. He looked down at me with a shrug. "Fae. I'm still not entirely sure how they work and I've been around a while.”
― Sabrina Blackburry, Dirty Lying Dragons

“And what about how she’ll be… divided?” Forrest asks gruffly. I wince at the poor word choice.

“Divided?” she asks, her tone outraged. “I’m not a pie!”
― Lacey Carter Andersen, Shadow of the Crown

“The fox melted back into the shadows of the cave, but not before I sensed something terribly amiss about it, which jarred at my awareness like a toothache.
"Emily," Rose murmured.
I turned. Several more of the little vulpine Folk, perched upon a log on the bank--- for naturally they were Folk, like the one I'd observed briefly by the cottage; I felt irritated at myself for not realizing it before. Even at close range, they looked a great deal like foxes in all but their faces, which reminded me of a human infant, all overlarge eyes and small rosebud mouths. They might have been small children wearing costumes, but for the unnerving glint of very small, but very sharp teeth, and the wet, all-black of their eyes. They darted in and out of the meadow grass, which was riddled with foxholes, so quick it was difficult to ascertain their number, except that it was great.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“If this is a shortcut," I said, "then we will be bypassing a great deal of Where the Trees Have Eyes."
"Hum!" Snowbell said. "I suppose so. The Weeping Mines, for one--- terrible waterfalls where the high ones harvest their silver. The Gap of Wick, which a nasty boggart has claimed for his own. Also the darkest part of the forest, the lands of the hag-headed deer, which they call the Poetry. And many other perils besides."
He said it in his usual bragging tones, assuming that I would be nothing but grateful. And I was, I suppose, but another part of me wept at the thought of finding my way to the Silva Lupi, a place of scholarly legend, so magnificently fascinating and terrible, and then hurrying through like a busy shopper at a market.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands

“I understand what her loveliness does to a faerie,” Remius said as he gave her a slow wink and raised his goblet to her.

“You must take care, Princess. There are many here who would win your hand through dubious means,” Theolf said, finally speaking up.

“Dubious means?” Alora questioned.

“Flirting, tricking, enticing, compelling, kidnapping…,” Theolf said as he ticked off each one with his fingers.”
― Michelle Helen Fritz, A Court Of Broken Promises & Nightmares

“Me imagino como sería tener mi propia corona, mi propio poder.
Quizá no tendría que temer enamorarme de él. Quizá estaría bien. - Jude”
― Holly Black

“Solo porque yo esté resentida con el amor no significa que a todo el mundo tenga que pasarle lo mismo”
― Holly Black, The Wicked King

“Because,” Mark said, “I wished to ride with you in the Hunt one last time.”
― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight