Quotes About Enchantment

She tasted like buried treasure and swing swets and coffee. She tasted the way fireworks felt, like something you could get close to but never really have just for yourself.

She tasted the way fireworks felt, like something you could get close to but never really have just for yourself.

Without knowing why or how, I found myself in love with this strange Wanderess. Maybe I was just in love with the dream she was selling me: a life of destiny and fate; as my own life up until we met had been so void of enchantment. Those things: mystery, fate, enchantment... they are things that young people offer us as soon as we get close to them. And if we're not careful, we can be seduced by, and drawn back into, the youthful world they preside over.

I likened her to the slender PSYCHÉ and judged that the perfection of her face ennobled everything unclean around her: The dusty hems of her bunched-up skirt, the worn straps of her nightshirt; the blackened soles of her bare feet [...] All this and the pungent air! Ô this night, sweet pungent night! "HÉBÉ" may come but a season. But this girl's season would know a hot spring and an Indian summer.

Those things: Mystery, Fate, and Enchantment... they are things that young people offer us as soon as we get close to them. And if we're not careful, we can be seduced by, and drawn back into, the youthful world the young preside over.

It has always seemed to me. ever since early childhood, amid all the commonplaces of life, i was very near to a kingdom of ideal beauty. Between it and me hung only a thin veil. I could never draw it quite aside, but sometimes a wind fluttered it and I caught a glimpse of the enchanting realms beyond-only a glimpse-but those glimpses have always made life worthwhile.

Anne watched them as she talked and somehow felt that wind and stars and fireflies were all tangled up together into something unutterably sweet and enchanting.

For the fairies dwell only in the kingdom of Happiness; having no souls they cannot enter the kingdom of Sorrow.

It had always seemed to Emily, ever since she could remember, that she was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty. Between it and her hung only a thin curtain; she could never draw the curtain aside- but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it and then it was as if she caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond-only a glimpse and heard a note of unearthly music.

Ah, bak Diana ne güzel bir gökkuÅŸa??! Sence biz gittikten sonra Orman Perisi gelip onu boynuna eÅŸarp diye takar m??

There is such a place as fairyland-but only a few, who remain children at heart, can ever find that fair, lost path again; and blessed are they above mortals. They can bring us tidings from that dear country where we once sojourned and must be evermore exiles. The world calls them its singers and poets and artists and storytellers; but they are just people who have never forgotten the way to fairyland.

Mrs Whatsit shook her beautiful head.

Think about the word 'spell', meaning a state of enchantment or a brief period of time. When a chapter of your life ends, you may feel that a spell has been broken. You may feel disenchanted. But new magic is coming. Better yet, make new magic.

Even a witch wants sympathy.

One of them had a large wooden sign nailed to its door proclaiming, NO SYMPATHY! I wondered what non-arcane visitors might think of the warning.

We teachers are rather good at magic, you know.

On the cities of Venice and Varanasi] Everywhere you look there is evidence of the enchantment of decay, of a kind of beauty that can only be revealed by a long, slow fading.

It can neither be concealed nor overstated: These types of things genuinely interest and delight me. One small wordplay discovery—say, figuring out that an anagram for maker is me, AKR—will make my whole day.

Women always think that when they have my shoes, my dress my hairdresser, my make-up, it will work the same way. They do not conceive of the witchcraft that is needed. They do not know that I am not beautiful but that I only appear to be at certain moments.

Stories are the only enchantment possible, for when we begin to see our suffering as a story, we are saved.

When he first stepped out of the car and walked towards the door where I stood waiting, I saw a man I liked. In his writing he is flamboyant, virile, animal, magnificent. He's a man whom life makes drunk, I thought. He is like me.

His room was like an explorer's den, a lair of furs, the cave of a magician.

She wanted to be courted with mysterious language.

Her beauty drowned me. As I sat in front of her I felt that I would do anything mad for her, anything she asked of me. Henry faded. She was color, brilliance, strangeness.