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“Lord James did not know whether to feel proud of his daughter or
throttle her. He had managed to collar her quietly among the guests at the
Shinar manor, and they were alone together in the Lord Steward’s library.
He ordered her to a sofa in front of a ceiling-high bookcase.
Helen heard the same hard quality in his voice that she had perceived the first time they spoke together. She swallowed hard. He was not in a mood to be trifled with or flouted.
“You dress and behave modestly enough, Lieutenant,�� he said. “But
your language earlier today was utterly appalling. You sounded like
a Lesser Shore whore, not a proper young woman, or a professional
healer. I simply won’t have it.��
“Two out of three is a start, Lord —��
He brought the back of his hand down across her face. She leapt
to her feet, not wounded so much as angry. “Is force your answer for
everything, Lord Protector?��
“Are sarcasm and insubordination yours, Lieutenant?”
― Candace L. Talmadge, Stoneslayer: Book One Scandal

“Sooner or later, everybody dreams of other worlds.”
― J. Aleksandr Wootton, Her Unwelcome Inheritance

“All my life," he said, "I have been strangely, vividly conscious of another region—not far removed from our own world in one sense, yet wholly different in kind—where great things go on unceasingly, where immense and terrible personalities hurry by, intent on vast purposes compared to which earthly affairs, the rise and fall of nations, the destinies of empires, the fate of armies and continents, are all as dust in the balance”
― Algernon Blackwood, The Willows

“After swinging the child easily from his shoulders to the ground, Lord St. Vincent opened the carriage door on Pandora's side. The full blaze of midday gilded his perfect features and struck brilliant lights in his bronze-gold hair.


Fact #13 she wanted to write. Lord St. Vincent walks around with his own personal halo.


The man had too much of everything. Looks, wealth, intelligence, breeding, and virile good health.


Fact #14 Some people are living proof of an unjust universe.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Spring

“She held a scarlet sequin dress to her chest and posed in front of a mirror. Too hot. She put it back and took a black mini. Too dreary. Then a blue as pale as a whisper caught her eye. She took the dress. The material was silky and clinging. Perfect for a goddess. On the floor below the dress sat scrappy wraparound high-heeled sandals that matched the blue.
She didn't understand why she needed to dress up to meet Stanton but the impulse to steal into the storage room had been rising in her since the sun set.
She took the dress and sandals back to her room, then sat on the floor and painted her toenails and fingernails pale blue. She drew waves of eternal flames and spiral hearts in silver and blue around her ankles and up her legs with body paints.
When she was done, she pressed a Q-tip into glitter eye shadow and spread sparkles on her lid and below her eye. With a sudden impulse she swirled the lines over her temple and into her hairline. She liked the look.
She rolled blue mascara on her lashes, then brushed her hair and snapped crystals in the long blond strands. She squeezed glitter lotion into her palms and rubbed it on her shoulders and arms. Last she took the dress and stepped into it. She turned to the mirror on the closet door.
A thrill ran through her. Her reflection astonished her. She looked otherworldly, a mystical creature... eyes large, skin glowing, eyelashes longer, thicker. Everything about her was more powerful and sleek and fairy tale. Surely this wasn't really happening. Maybe she would wake up and run to school and tell Catty about her crazy dreams. But another part of her knew this was real.
She leaned to one side. The dress exposed too much thigh.
"Good." Her audacity surprised her. Another time she would have changed her dress. But why should she?”
― Lynne Ewing, Goddess of the Night

“I speak of something not in this world. I speak of someone whose purpose is elsewhere.”
― Alejandra Pizarnik, The Galloping Hour: French Poems

“A paradisiacal lagoon lay below them. The water was an unbelievable, unreal turquoise, its surface so still that every feature of the bottom could be admired in magnified detail: colorful pebbles, bright red kelp, fish as pretty and colorful as the jungle birds. A waterfall on the far side fell softly from a height of at least twenty feet. A triple rainbow graced its frothy bottom. Large boulders stuck out of the water at seemingly random intervals, black and sun-warmed and extremely inviting, like they had been placed there on purpose by some ancient giant.
And on these were the mermaids.
Wendy gasped at their beauty.
Their tails were all colors of the rainbow, somehow managing not to look tawdry or clownish. Deep royal blue, glittery emerald green, coral red, anemone purple. Slick and wet and as beautifully real as the salmon Wendy's father had once caught on holiday in Scotland. Shining and voluptuously alive.
The mermaids were rather scandalously naked except for a few who wore carefully placed shells and starfish, although their hair did afford some measure of decorum as it trailed down their torsos. Their locks were long and thick and sinuous and mostly the same shades as their tails. Some had very tightly coiled curls, some had braids. Some had decorated their tresses with limpets and bright hibiscus flowers.
Their "human" skins were familiar tones: dark brown to pale white, pink and beige and golden and everything in between. Their eyes were also familiar eye colors but strangely clear and flat. Either depthless or extremely shallow depending on how one stared.
They sang, they brushed their hair, they played in the water. In short, they did everything mythical and magical mermaids were supposed to do, laughing and splashing as they did.
"Oh!" Wendy whispered. "They're-" And then she stopped.
Tinker Bell was giving her a funny look. An unhappy funny look.
The mermaids were beautiful. Indescribably, perfectly beautiful. They glowed and were radiant and seemed to suck up every ray of sun and sparkle of water; Wendy found she had no interest looking anywhere else.”
― Liz Braswell, Straight On Till Morning

“It was so pure, the snow, the purest of all powders, I thought, so pure it must be from elsewhere, from another planet.”
― Hannah Lillith Assadi, Sonora

“The library has always been an otherworldly and wondrous space. It is where I found a home and a future in words.”
― A.K. Kuykendall

“Intelligence is a necessity, but when one is without a supernatural sense, intelligence becomes senseless.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson

“It seems, something inside us persistently wants to believe in things, unexplainable by words.”
― Mladen Đorđević, Svetioničar - Pritajeno zlo

“I see him as a god from elsewhere who has lost his way . . .”
― Iris Murdoch, The Message to the Planet

“He looked so sad. I never saw him look sad before, he was always so superior, everywhere the king. You once called him a god from elsewhere who had lost his way.”
― Iris Murdoch, The Message to the Planet

“The distant stars played battleship
With the light behind her eyes
A glimpse of another world
It never left her countenance”
― Gina Marinello-Sweeney, Peter

“But the very action of naming something that subsequently happens—of wishing specific evil, and that evil coming to pass—this still has a shiver of the otherworldly about it.”
― Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending

“We didn't know how to raise a Heavenly Gifted Child. There was not a book anywhere that told us how to keep her safe from the unknown.”
― Sue Quinones, ANGELBABY: A True Story Of Faith, Miracles, And The Supernatural

“A faerie crouched beside me. It was very small, its frame skeletal with a face full of teeth and two sharp black stones for eyes tucked beneath a ravenskin that it seemed to wear as a sort of cloak, but the skin had been poorly cleaned and the eyes were absent. It had all the substance of cobwebs and was both there and not there; viewed from certain angles, it was merely the shadow of a stone, and from others, a live raven. It was digging around in my pockets with fingernails the length again of its spindly arms and sharp enough to slit my throat without my noticing the injury immediately.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“I stretch out to touch Nyame's muzzle eagerly, and the energy doesn't withdraw. I let her know she's going to be alone again. But then I see pictures of shamans in trances and dancers in drum circles and children sleeping and I know she's never been alone. She's never NEEDED us. There have always been those who transcend, and traversing is just one way to walk between worlds. I don't think she'll miss me, that's too limited a way of thinking, but she makes me feel like she's noticed me, and I am grateful for that too.”
― Micaiah Johnson, The Space Between Worlds

“Upon the bed sat a boy, pale as moonlight on new snow. I stopped short, for the creature was nothing like the changelings I have encountered before---ugly, spindly things to a one, with the brains of animals. The boy's long hair was bluish and translucent, and upon his skin was a glimmer like frost. He was beautiful, with an uncanny grace, his eyes sharp with intelligence.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“I fetched a pair of metal tweezers from my pack and carefully plucked a leaf from the frost. It was lovely, segmented like a maple and white as the trunk and boughs, though it also had a coating of short white hairs, like some sort of beast. I placed the leaf within a small metal box I habitually use to collect such samples, many of which have found their place in the Museum of Dryadology and Ethnofolklore at Cambridge.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries