Pixie Dust Quotes

“All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

“Don't you understand? You mean more to me that anything in this entire world.”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

“The fairy was flying in loops and swirls around her, shedding fairy dust as she went. Throwing it at Wendy.
Delighted, the human girl raised her arms up to fully experience what was happening. Delicate golden sparkles floated down and kissed her skin. Where they touched, Wendy felt lighter. Tiny pains she hadn't even realized she felt entirely disappeared, and any weariness vanished. She felt rested, energetic, and- airy.”
― Liz Braswell, Straight On Till Morning

“(Erica) "Hello? Did you not get the memo? Vampires are hot! Besides, compared to most cities, we barely even have a vampire population. I heard Seattle has like, ten times as many because the sun barely shines up there. We just need to find a man who will pound all those negative thoughts right out of your brain with his big, fat cock!"
(Karli) "Ugh, don't remind me I don't have one of those either!" I whined.”
― Dr. L.L.

“What Wendy felt was a spray of something that could only be described as golden. Light, effervescent, slightly dry. Fuzzy, like the horrible mineral waters Mother sometimes made Father take to aid his digestion. But not with the terrible metallic taste. For the brief moment she could taste anything at all, it was sweet- or no, maybe sour like lemons. No, not that, either- more like sparks from a fire.”
― Liz Braswell, Straight On Till Morning

“Tinker Bell, meanwhile, was drifting with purpose up to the highest leafy branches of the jungle. Her light glowed warmly off the leaves below, the droplets seeping off their thick veins, the sweet sap running down the trunks of the trees. It made the whole clearing look...
Well, like it was touched by fairies, Wendy thought with a smile.
All her life she had looked for fairies in more mundane places, experiencing a rush of hope and warmth whenever a scene even palely imitated the one before here now. Candles at Christmas, fireflies in the park, flickering lamps in teahouses. The sparkling leaded glass windows of a sweets shop on winter afternoons when dusk came at four. A febrile, glowing crisscross of threads on a rotten log her cousin had once shown her out in the country: fox fire, magical mushrooms.
And here it was, for real! Tinker Bell was performing what appeared to be a slow and majestic dance. First, she moved to specific points in the air around her, perhaps north, south, east, and west, twirling a little at each stop. Then she flew back to the center and made a strange bowing motion, keeping her tiny feet daintily together and putting her arms out gracefully like a swan. As she completed each movement, fairy dust fell from her wings in glittering, languorous trails, hanging in the air just long enough to form shapes. She started the dance over again, faster this time.
And again even faster. Her trail of sparkles almost resolved into a picture, crisscrossed lines constantly flowing slowly down like drips of luminous paint.
Wendy felt a bit like John, overwhelmed with a desire to try to reduce and explain and thereby translate the magic. But she also felt a lot like Michael, with an almost overwhelming urge to break free from her hiding place and see it up close, to feel the sparkles on her nose, to run a hand through the sigils not for the purpose of destruction but form a hapless, joyful desire to be part of it all.”
― Liz Braswell, Straight On Till Morning

“Where did you get your tat?”
“Aaron’s shop. You want to get a tat?” he asked, grinning as if this was hilarious.
“I have one,” I said, rolling the ball into the gutter. “It’s not finished though.”
“How come?”
“My brother interrupted the tattoo and I never had the money to get it done again.”
“No, I meant how come you’re such a bad bowler? Is it genetic?” he asked. “Like do you come from a long line of people who can’t make a ball roll in a straight line?”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I try, Pixie Dust.”
― Bijou Hunter, Damaged and the Cobra

“I’ve got the word of an eight-year-old girl, an old fairytale I used to know, and a shred of faith... It’s not pixie dust, but I’d like to think it’s enough.”
― Emory R. Frie

“At last, Tink realized, she did have a mission. One born of her own passion. It would involve magic--- fiery, perhaps more concentrated, more ripened than the standard fairy fare. Not dark, as such. But tinted, stained, perhaps. She'd have to find a way to persuade the elders that the moment required such measures.
She found herself more than up to the task.”
― Elizabeth Lim, A Twisted Tale Anthology

“All at once the fairies burst from their corner, lit brighter than a galaxy. The elders darted straight to the captives. But the younger pixies, led by Tinker Bell, zipped and darted around the pirates, sprinkling enough pixie dust to spark.
Enough pixie dust, that was, to burn.
"We're on fire!" Smee shouted. "Run for the water!"
"The boy will escape!" Hook snarled. "You'll all be staying right here!"
The pirate crew wanted to obey their captain, of course--- but the fairies were relentless. And their dust rained down like acid. Tink found that the unease that came from always trying to contain her outsized feelings was greatly alleviated with this opportunity to expend some of that wild, raw emotion. It was thrilling. She threw her head back, laughing as the crew retreated.
Then it was just Tink, Hook, and Peter. The Darlings and Lost Boys had been released by the elders. Peter was still strung up, bobbing in his restraints like a kite. Amid the chaos he looked at Tinker Bell with amusement.
"Came back for us, did ya?" His eyes twinkled.
I came back... for me.”
― Elizabeth Lim, A Twisted Tale Anthology