欧宝娱乐

“There's a monster in our wood. She'll get you if you're not good. Drag you under leaves and sticks. Punish you for all your tricks. Anest of hair and gnawed bone. You are never, ever coming... home.”
― Holly Black, The Darkest Part of the Forest

“You think I don鈥檛 deserve him,鈥� I say to Cardan.
He smiles slowly, like the moon slipping beneath the waves of the lake. 鈥淥h no, I think you鈥檙e perfect for each other.”
― Holly Black, The Cruel Prince

“This is how a faerie loves: with her whole body and soul.
This is how a faerie loves: with destruction.
This is how a faerie loves: with a gift.”
― Cassandra Clare, Pale Kings and Princes

“He was astonishingly vain even by fair folk standards, which was like saying a pond is unusually wet, or a bear surprisingly hairy.”
― Margaret Rogerson, An Enchantment of Ravens

“We all accepted that this land was a gate to that other world, the realm of spirits and dreams and the Fair Folk, without any question. The place we grew up in was so full of magic that it was almost a part of everyday life - not to say you'd meet one of them every time you went out to pick berries, or draw water from your well, but everyone we knew had a friend of a friend who'd strayed too far into the forest, and disappeared; or ventured inside a ring of mushrooms, and gone away for a while, and come back subtly changed. Strange things could happen in those places. Gone for maybe fifty years you could be, and come back still a young girl; or away for no more than an instant by moral reckoning, and return wrinkled and bent with age. These tales fascinated us, but failed to make us careful. If it was going to happen to you, it would happen, whether you liked it or not.”
― Juliet Marillier, Daughter of the Forest

“The Fair Folk don't give back what they take.”
― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“It's so hard to be sassy to the Fair Folk. You people never get jokes”
― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight

“Once, a Whimsical poet died of despair after finding himself unequal to the task of capturing a fair one's beauty in simile. I think it more likely he died of arsenic poisoning, but so the story goes.”
― Margaret Rogerson, An Enchantment of Ravens

“After every battle, he ritually dips his hood into the blood of his enemies. I鈥檝e seen the hood, kept under glass in the armory. The fabric is stiff and stained a brown so deep it鈥檚 almost black, except for a few smears of green.
Sometimes I go down and stare at it, trying to see my parents in the tide lines of dried blood. I want to feel something, something besides a vague queasiness. I want to feel more, but every time I look at it, I feel less.”
― Holly Black, The Cruel Prince

“For no matter whether the fairies are seen metaphorically or as real beings inhabiting their own real world, a study of them shows us that those who came before us (and many of that mindset still survive) realized that we are -- no matter what we may think to the contrary -- very little creatures, here for a short time only ('passing through,' as the old people say) and that we have no right to destroy what the next generation will most assuredly need to also see itself through.
If only we could learn that lesson, maybe someday we might be worthy of the wisdom of those who knew that to respect the Good People is basically to respect yourself.”
― Eddie Lenihan, Meeting the Other Crowd : The Fairy Stories of Hidden Ireland

“I was made of frost and rot and endless things. I was not made to fear the Folk.”
― Lyra Selene, A Feather So Black

“His was the beauty of the night鈥攄ark moons and dark deeds. His was the beauty of the forest鈥攈iding teeth and hiding monsters. His was the beauty of black ice鈥攕lick and thin and masking death.”
― Lyra Selene, A Feather So Black

“I adored your fluttering touches
and effervescent kisses
nestled among great roots.
The sunlight dappling your shoulders.
Vines curling in your hair.
Our cheeks burning.
Wandering through hidden places.
A secret love skirting the shadows.
The water and wind sang for us.
The trees danced with us.
The beetles whispered their blessings.

We ate the plump wild-berries.
I soon found my mouth bitter
and stained.
Your petal-soft love
turned to thorns.
The mist faded in the bright morning
but left me cold and damp.
The mossy ground charred.
My lips starved and bleeding.”
― Keelie Breanna