Mermaid Siren Quotes

The difference between my darkness and your darkness is that I can look at my own badness in the face and accept its existence while you are busy covering your mirror with a white linen sheet. The difference between my sins and your sins is that when I sin I know I'm sinning while you have actually fallen prey to your own fabricated illusions. I am a siren, a mermaid; I know that I am beautiful while basking on the ocean's waves and I know that I can eat flesh and bones at the bottom of the sea. You are a white witch, a wizard; your spells are manipulations and your cauldron from hell yet you wrap yourself in white and wear a silver wig.

Human?' The girl cocked her head the other way. I caught a glimpse of pink gills under her chin. 'My sisters told me stories of humans. They said they sometimes sing to them to lure them underwater.' She grinned, showing off her sharp needle-teeth. 'I've been practicing. Want to hear?

There is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath...

If you swim effortlessly in the deep oceans, ride the waves to and from the shore, if you can breathe under water and dine on the deep treasures of the seas; mark my words, those who dwell on the rocks carrying nets will try to reel you into their catch. The last thing they want is for you to thrive in your habitat because they stand in their atmosphere where they beg and gasp for some air.

She swore vengeance on all men with dark hearts.

I am a siren, and for my adoration of mankind, have been caught in fishing nets one time too many. And in those fishing nets I have learned too many unfavorable things about human intentions and the lack of trust and goodwill; I'm not going to allow myself to be caught, anymore. Sirens do well at singing the sirens' song and dragging vile people to their deaths, and for good reason!

And unless I'm remembering it wrong, mermaids don't sing and sirens don't swim." "Ariel sang in 'The Little Mermaid'," Corey said. Sam came over to join us. "Do I even want to know why you remember her name?

Sirens are real, mermaids are not.

Dive deeper, my Siren, and sing, All I crave is feeling you within.

In grave danger of suffocation, the mermaid peeled away from him and emitted a sonar wail that woke drowned sailors from their oyster beds.

Called by the sirens and followed by an albatross.

It was a woman--as pale and luminescent as a ghost, with swirling white hair. Ezra startled, dropping his pencil into the water. Her face snapped toward him. Her eyes were too large, clear green, and had horizontal, slit-shaped pupils, reminiscent of an octopus.

I think you’ll find since I already love you, your Siren’s serenade will have no effect on me.

I have always been intrigued by these not-quite women, whether they were sirens or mermaids, kinnari or selkie. The world can’t seem to decide whether to condemn, covet, or celebrate them

Wonderful or supernatural events are not so uncommon, rather they are irregular in their incidence. Thus there may be not one marvel to speak of in a century, and then often enough comes a plentiful crop of them; monsters of all sorts swarm suddenly upon the earth, comets blaze in the sky, eclipses frighten nature, meteors fall in rain, while mermaids and sirens beguile, and sea serpents engulf every passing ship, and terrible cataclysms beset humanity.

They are from another world, another way of life that somehow has merged with our own. These worlds are kept separate for the safety of everyone. " "And yet, I connect them." "You do.

Ms. Wrack's mother, Mrs. Wrack, had been a mermaid: a proper one who lived on a rock and combed her hair and sang. But sailors had never been lured to their doom by her, partly because she looked like the back of a bus and partly because modern ships are so high out of the water that they never even saw her

What do you mean 'has to be?' and what are you smiling at?" I stopped contributing to this ridiculous dance. I grabbed the teapot and began to fill it with water in the sink. Suddenly I felt the slight weight go this body against my back and the corner of his mouth brushed adjacent my ear. "How human you are," he whispered.

In your life, right here and now, things like mermaids, fairies, witches and monsters are nothing but fairytales told to your grandchildren and stories you heard from your own grandparents as children. They exist only in your imagination. Did you ever think that there is a chance all this was once real, that it all existed? Perhaps yes, but you would then consider such thoughts irrational, that even if you were to believe it and try telling someone they would think you for mad. In my world those creatures are real – I’m real, and I am here to tell you of a story that happened in eons past in the majestic island of Aster." - Queen of Merfolk Asteria - Ninemia

Now," she said when all was ready and lit the silver sconces on either side of the mirror. What woman would not have kindled to see what Orlando saw then burning in the snow--for all about the looking glass were snowy lawns, and she was like a fire, a burning bush, and the candle flames about her head were silver leaves; or again, the glass was green water, and she a mermaid, slung with pearls, a siren in a cave, singing so that oarsmen leant from their boats and fell down, down to embrace her; so dark, so bright, so hard, so soft, was she, so astonishingly seductive that it was a thousand pities that there was no one there to pt it in plain English, and say outright "Damn it Madam, you are loveliness incarnate," which was the truth.

you are so much more than the rippling fallacies your reflection whispers to you. those demons that lurk beneath the surface do not know you even though they pretend to. and someday, though it feels impossible, you will see yourself as i do. when time has finally finished healing your scars, your siren call will scream 'I AM GOOD ENOUGH!' and even your bewitching smile will shine through. but until that day, the day you are okay, just keep singing yourself to sleep. And eventually, your monsters will stop haunting you. - trust me.

What do you mean 'has to be?' and what are you smiling at?" I stopped contributing to this ridiculous dance. I grabbed the teapot and began to fill it with water in the sink. Suddenly I felt the slight weight of his body against my back and the corner of his mouth brushed against my ear. "How human you are," he whispered.

Oh my," she said as though to herself. "The rumors are true, you have been kept in the dark.

Capture. It's the perfect word, isn't it? You paint someone and it's like you own them, like you've taken their soul from their body and put it right there on the canvas.

The sea beckoned to me, and all reality was lost—swept away in the entrancing song of the tide.

I had never seen a more flawless specimen than this wild looking siren.

The singing wasn't the hopscotch-jumprope-happy kind. This was the kind of singing that, if you tracked it to its source, you might find a little girl in a moldy old burial dress, her skin pitted & green, with lots of coffin splinters & dirt between her teeth... ...like a mermaid luring idiot sailors...Winny wasn't a sailor, & he wasn't old enough to get all sexed up by some hot siren.

Enraptured by an aberration of beauty, I cannot move. I find myself helpless against a woman whose pale lips sing to me. Every note, every hymn that escapes those lips, I want to hear like a story being told to a child. I want to listen to its crinkled page as it turns, but more so, I desired this creature before me.

Part of me felt like I was throwing my life away, for a guy I barely knew. But I wasn’t just doing it for him. Since my parents died, I’d had absolutely no control over my life. If I really thought about it, maybe I’d given up control long before—that day in Oregon when I almost drowned. Since then, I’d always relied on others to take care of me. Maybe it was time to take my life back into my own hands… even if it meant growing fins.

Mermaids weren't mammalian. They couldn't be. Too many sightings focused on their 'slender backs' and 'narrow waists'--features that seemed reasonable to modern readers with modern beauty standards, but which made no sense for an Italian fisherman during the plague years, or a Puerto Rican swimmer in the 1920s. If the mermaid had been an idealized projection of a human woman onto a marine mammal, she would have looked different every time, fat during some eras, thin during others, not consistently slim to the point of freezing in oceanic waters. The people who described mermaids were describing a real creature, something that wasn't mammalian, but looked mammalian enough to make a tempting lure. And why would anything lure sailors, if not as a form of sustenance?

Sea Hags* Sea Hags are curious creatures, particularly as they have no need for us. “Who needs a husband?” they ask in chiming voices. “Who needs a mother? When we have Poseidon as mate and the great Ocean herself to hold us.” Cascades of laughter behind the sparkling scales of their hands in a manner to call to question both their good sense and their sincerity. Sea Hags – one could study them for fifty years and find no answer. (*Shamelessly inspired by Kafka’s Sirens: another creature entirely.)

My face flushed scarlet. I was a stranger in my own skin. I had ever felt this kind of anger in my life. Fort and confusion grew. Its sensation was an overwhelming concoction of hate. The only things I knew - the only things keeping me remotely calm- was the following litany. My name is Eleanora Ada Stone. I was moved from home to home for seventeen years. I am now living on this god-forsaken island in Maine. I was being kept from a world of secrets. I have abilities. I am not human. I do not know what I am.

I watched the colored lights and sparkles coming off of Sebastian in the dark water, as the ocean began the process of rebuilding his tail. I longed to join him in the water, to wrap my arms around him and let him carry me under the sea; but I wasn't ready. For him, the ocean was a home; for me it was death. Without being able to transform, the ocean depths would suffocate me, the pressure collapse my bones and flesh.

Angel of the Forsaken Hope Wielder of the Sword of Wind and Obsidian Slice the Algorithms from our Foe. Mermaid Beneath the Seven Dancing Moons, Cantress of the Siren Song, Drown our Enemies in the Data-stream. Nymph of the Logic Tree, Child of the First Word, Give our Antagonist to Grief.

Wait—what?” He’d said the last statement so casually, I almost didn’t grasp its significance. “There are merrow who want to destroy the human race?” I pictured a hundred thousand Sebastians, capable of punching through picnic tables and moving faster than we could even see them. It would be a slaughter. A mermaid apocalypse. I almost laughed at the thought, but the impulse died in my throat. I felt sick. I couldn’t believe I’d wanted to kiss him just a few moments ago.

It seems to me that women would make much better sailors,” Miss Ophelia interjected, setting aside her cup of rosehip tea. “You men are susceptible to all sorts of magical mischief, from mermaids to sirens to rusalki to whatever else has a female form and a nice voice. I have never heard of a woman wrecking a ship over some singing seahorse!

But then he heard something--- a note purer than birdsong, softer than morning dew. He turned. It was then that he saw the woman: she sat on a rock near the shore, singing just for him. Like she'd been waiting. The rising sun set her hair alight, her skin glittered with wet. Her eyes were round and dark as a seal's; her hands soft and warm as summer air---

It’s got a surreal Little Mermaid vibe to it. Like I’m a prince transfixed by a siren I’ve just plucked from the sea.

I don’t think you’re any crazier than anyone else here on the island

That was what he’d made of her. A siren. A mermaid, and only when he dragged her under would she finally be able to breathe.

She’s my mermaid, my siren, the woman whose call I’ll answer when I’m dead.

It was the water that protected me. It's the water that makes us strong.

Her expression morphed into all seasons at once.

For summer can be blue or gray follow the wind to take you bay Into sirens hands you fall from your ship Captains down and other walk towards the edge were mermaids wait to drowned you

Though, she recalls now, there had been a time in childhood when she often dreamed of water. She doesn't remember much. A sun-dappled surface far above her head. A feeling that she was drowning, but somehow safe, that a liquid membrane protected her from the outside world.

The rash on her legs is peeling, coming off her in great pale strips, like the discarded skin of a snake. Below it, the flesh isn't pink and raw, or dotted with blood. Instead it glimmers, changing color with the light of the storm. Green then blue, then the pinkish white of mother-of-pearl. Iridescent as scales.

sea//c. i. I have been told by many that men taste like the ocean. Maybe it’s because so many of their ancestors got lost at sea but finally made their way to shore; the salt in their pores. ii. -A sailor & his sinking ship- buoyant & blue there is siren in the sea, instead of salt there is death on her skin -you cannot let waves win you over as easily as this- sink or swim choose one; swim. iii. You make it to shore and I tell you the sea and the sky look the same to me. Except one is not as wet as your eyes when you weep and our lips when they meet. iv. meanwhile, mermaids make love to men they do not know.

Riding high and above the waves on extemporaneous notions of an afterlife, Michael brought one foot forward and let it dangle over the roof’s edge. He knew that he did not have much time before the other would follow. Some patients below could see the figure atop the building from the courtyard. They started to rile with anticipation, their irate murmurings incomprehensible. A groundskeeper looked up to see what justified the commotion. Michael could hear the shouts from below. He almost toppled when the wind picked up again, but recovered and kept one foot dangling with the other anchored to the roof. The hoots came louder now, almost calling him toward them like sirens guiding ships in the night. From below it was impossible to make out the face of the balancing figurine now poised in suspended descent. Another gust came. He closed his eyes, felt the levity manifesting, and felt the complete freedom inside. He could feel himself gliding down like the sail of a weightless craft, forever plunging into the great beyond, below where mermaids sing and summon their lovers home, further down into the depths of some complacent serenity, further down where thoughts float away and never return and the lightness is so grand that there is no other worldly place imaginable, for there is no world left to be considered. There is only the soul, free from the prison of the body, and it is released to travel another millennium through time, carrying with it the progress and industry gathered from the mind previously occupied. The time it spans inconceivable. He let his other foot go from the roof and felt himself completely let go.

Mermaids - those half-human, half-fish sirens of the sea — are legendary sea creatures chronicled in maritime cultures since time immemorial. The ancient Greek epic poet Homer wrote of them in The Odyssey. In the ancient Far East, mermaids were the wives of powerful sea-dragons, and served as trusted messengers between their spouses and the emperors on land. The aboriginal people of Australia call mermaids yawkyawks – a name that may refer to their mesmerizing songs. The belief in mermaids may have arisen at the very dawn of our species. Magical female figures first appear in cave paintings in the late Paleolithic (Stone Age) period some 30,000 years ago, when modern humans gained dominion over the land and, presumably, began to sail the seas. Half-human creatures, called chimeras, also abound in mythology — in addition to mermaids, there were wise centaurs, wild satyrs, and frightful minotaurs, to name but a few. But are mermaids real? No evidence of aquatic humanoids has ever been found. Why, then, do they occupy the collective unconscious of nearly all seafaring peoples? That’s a question best left to historians, philosophers, and anthropologists.

As one, the two men turned. There was a woman in the water with them. Singing softly into the night.

Not a word or a laugh or a single sound would pass her lips for more than six years, when fate intervened. For a siren whose voice is never heard is hardly a siren at all. Maybe enough to make a man wonder whether she might make a suitable wife.

His voice, like the pluck of a bass guitar, reverberated through her, sending a shiver up the back of her neck. Irma quickly revised her assessment of Ezra from confident to dangerous.

Slowly rising from the fire, she went down to the shore, and not wanting to frighten him off again, she squatted on a rock above the water, looking down at him where he sat on the wet sand with his long blue-green tail disappearing into the lapping waves. He shyly offered the bag up to her, which had been woven of seaweed, and she took it with a whispered thanks and opened it, staring in delight and surprise at the sheer amount of oysters that were inside. The siren made a trilling noise and whispered, “I-I hope it is well enough. I do not know what land women eat.

She snuggled close, nuzzling her hair beneath his chin. “Never leave me,” she whispered back. The siren chuckled sadly, the sound vibrating up through his chest and pleasantly against her ear. “But I must return to the sea every now and then or I will die.” He sighed. “Some part of me believes it would be a good death.

They’re deadly serious. Red really is a dragon shifter, and Vincent is a troll, and my sister is a mermaid. Next thing I know President Clinton will turn out to be a fucking fairy.

Of course she died There's no other way she could have died. If she'd been dying for something, the world would have realized it was a stupid thing, and given her back.

Recently, with Ricky away more frequently and in a bad mood when he was on shore, Toni had begun to question the wisdom of her move to the coast. She valued London's anonymity over the seaside town of best-forgotten faces. The answer lay in the darkness beyond the beach. As the crews worked on in comparative silence, Toni caught the hush and push of the tide. She smelled seaweed on the swift breeze. She'd been lured by another kind of siren to the blues and twos. The sea had called her home

I can't help but be changed, touched by something otherworldly as we spend the early afternoon in our small corner of paradise. I wouldn't have blinked twice if a mermaid swam past us, singing a siren song. Anything feels possible here.

When we exist for them, they call us mermaids. When we live for ourselves, they call us sirens.

Under autumn’s moon-blood red Beneath a foam-tipped wave The unseen mermaid spies the dead Sink to a watery grave.

She waded into the center of the stream, her frenzied movements sending white plumes into the air. The water pulled at her with hands that were icy but gentle, and something sparked inside her, something still and buried curled suddenly into life. Her arms, silver with bubbles, sliced through the water. A figure swam ahead, dark hair moving as if in a breeze. And in that moment, Mary felt herself slipping, felt the temptation to give herself over to feeling, to memory. To Mam.

I should have known that the dreams would come. They--- the girls--- are like sharks. They sense it when you're weak.

There was the long-buried smell of home--- not the smell of the cottage in Armagh, with the hearth that she had yet to sweep and the stain of poitín in the air. Instead there was the briny tang of the sea, the sweet rot of fish guts. Her mother's scent, sun-baked sand and the gritty insides of shells.

The reef reminded Mary of the forest in spring, teeming with color and movement. Bristles of pink and red coral moved gently with the current. Fish shimmered past. A dark shadow lifted itself from the seabed and floated away. She had never seen so much beauty. Her eyes ached with looking and yet she hardly dared blink. It was as if, for all these years, she had been living with a great thirst, and at last was able to slake it.

In the water, Lucy feels herself bloom. Her throat opens and she is breathing: she can feel the water nourish her, the sweet sting of the salt. She stretches out her hands in front of her, marveling at the webbed flesh. Her blood beats like a drum. She kicks her legs, feels the power in them, the beauty. Ahead of her, Jess moves with the tide, her body at one with the sea, her hair a dark, drifting halo. Lucy sees the dance of the coral, throbbing pink and bright in time with the current. The silver dart of fish, the elegant shadow of a stingray. Above, she knows, the storm rages: ashore, trees bend and sway, the leaves crackle with lightning. The wind picks up the sand in great billows, the waves white. But here, all is peaceful, time slowed to the space between her heartbeats.

A siren without her voice is nothing.

If we want clues, we need to look at the extracurricular activities they pushed at us. Clearly, with Daniel and me, they were trying to boost our natural talents: fighting for him and running for me. Serena, Hayley, and Nicole were all in the choir and on the swim team. Plus they’re all blonde and pretty.” “Um, thanks,” Hayley said as she came over. “But what…” Her brow furrowed. “You think we’re mermaids?” “Isn’t that sirens?” Corey said. “Those chicks we studied in Greek mythology. Lured guys to their deaths by singing.” Hayley glared at him. “I thought you liked my singing.” “Yeah, because apparently it’s magical. That’s how you seduce guys.” “Seduce them? Or kill them?” “Same thing, kind of, if you think about it. Like that other guy in mythology. The one who got his hair cut and lost all his power. Mr. Parks said it symbolized men losing their power by falling for women.” “No,” I said. “Mr. Parks said it symbolizes men’s irrational fear of losing their power to women. And unless I’m remembering it wrong, mermaids don’t sing and sirens don’t swim.” “Ariel sang in The Little Mermaid,” Corey said. Sam came over to join us. “Do I even want to know why you remember her name?

And unless I’m remembering it wrong, mermaids don’t sing and sirens don’t swim.” “Ariel sang in The Little Mermaid,” Corey said. Sam came over to join us. “Do I even want to know why you remember her name?” “Mermaids and sirens weren’t on the list,” Daniel said. “Maya’s point is that Hayley, Nicole, and Serena shared common characteristics, which probably means they’re the same type, and it has something to do with singing and swimming.” “And being pretty,” Hayley said. “That’s not a superpower,” Sam muttered. Hayley turned to her. “No? How many times have you gotten into movies for free because you’re a tough warrior chick?

And then the sea, bright and unreal as a painting. She's never seen so many shades of blue" gleaming turquoise near the breakers; further out, a blue so dark it's almost black. Lucy shivers, thinking of the world beneath the spangled waves. The coastline curves around, so that she can see the cliffs on the other side of the bay, honeycombed with caves. Devil's Lookout. It's the same view she's seen already, on Jess's postcard, but the photographer hadn't quite captured the eeriness of the cliff face. In person, the caves look deeper and darker; one in particular, closest to the waterline, is large enough that she can almost imagine a demon lurking there, surveying the sea below. A prickle starts at the base of Lucy's spine. Maybe it's the knowledge of what the water would do to her skin. She imagines the waves lapping at her like tongues, stripping her of flesh until she is nothing but bone, gleaming white. Or perhaps it's the podcast; the thought of all those missing men, presumed drowned. But with the prickling fear there's a strange pull, too. Lucy struggles to tear her gaze from the bright waves, mesmerized by the way they curl over the shore. A part of her wants to get closer, to feel spindrift on her face, slick rock beneath her palms.

There's a self-portrait, her sister's face rendered in aqueous greens and blues. The shimmering surface of a pool, bright turrets of coral visible beneath. So she's familiar with the lush application of paint, the galaxies of color. But this? This is different. The painting is enormous, almost as big as the wall behind it. Her sister has painted two female figures, their backs turned on the viewer as they wade into a raging sea. The brushstrokes are frenzied, lavish, and Jess has done something to make their skin gleam, as if it's lifting from the canvas. Lucy feels sure that if she were to reach out and touch the girls' hair--- pale, like her own--- she would feel each whorl, each strand under her fingertips. Both girls are nude, their legs swallowed by furious splatters of paint. Blue green, purple, black, foamy white.

If you create a silence, people want to fill it.