Quotes About Magic

A solitary sorceress: her shadow is still visible on the eve of the new moon.

Witches don't do that sort of thing anymore! In the old days they even used to have to go out and catch their own bats and toads and stuff to make their powders out of. Now it all comes out of bottles.'...'My mother sends for everything from the Witches' Market. That's located near the Never-Never Land. They send her a catalogue and she orders from that.

todos los hombres son imbéciles y que todas las mujeres son unas brujas, pero que no hay nada más bello en el mundo que lo que ocurre entre un imbécil y una bruja cuando se aman...

What magic was this, brewed from equal parts of age-old memories and total oblivion. One could have believed that the last war these people had fought had left only happy memories, had carried in its wake nothing but joy and prosperity. Women and girls were smiling as if their sons and lovers were invulnerable.

His eyebrows twitched in time to the march. His eyes glittered. Was his son among the marchers? This was a march that roiled up the people, made their spines tingle and their eyes glow. What magic was this, composed in equal parts of ancient memory and total forgetting? From the way they acted you might think that the last war these people had fought was the happiest of undertakings and had brought them only joy and prosperity

A family mission statement formed in my head: 'We're a family that tells tall tales to add a little magic to our realism.

She's magic, Cassandra. A single flower blooming in an endless desert.

Jaenelle squirmed. "My…mate…is trapped in the Twisted Kingdom. If I don't show him the way out, he'll be destroyed.

When you're fully healed," she said sternly, then spoiled it with a silvery, velvet-coated laugh. "Oh, Lucivar, the dragons who live on the Fyreborn Islands are going to love you. You not only have wings, you're big enough to wave whomp.

You have learned well,* Dragon said. *But heed me, little one. You must guard the webs you weave that make dreams into flesh. Many beings will cherish those webs because they are spun out of magic that lives in the heart. But there will be others who will want to destroy that heart-magic before it can touch the world. Guard the webs . . . Weaver of Dreams.* Dragon's breath came out in a long sigh . . . and then there was silence.

Earth. Air. Water. Fire. Light of the sun. Light of the moon. Dreams and will. That's what it takes.

Comparison makes you less interesting to yourself doesn't it. Your magic contracts your body putting forth no frill under another's gaze.

The Lady smiled, close-mouthed. "You magicked for Arthur himself, Merlin. The Human part of you has always loved Arthur.

This is what remains. Magical objects with the magic gone out of them. A few cassettes and no tape machine on which they can be played.

1. Little Train Station 2. The Adventures of Rainy 3. The Boy Who Went About Doing Good 4.Rosa and the Golden Jar 5.Alina and the Dancing Fairy 6.The Three Sisters 7.Soso 8.The Friendly Crocodile 9.The Princess Who Could Not Sleep

Yes. She got into a right state when she realized no one could read them, though. She's setting up some sort of literacy curse. Some of the boys want to know--is that like gypsy magic? Can you curse someone to read?

Fireflies winked, and the darkening bay breathed and sighed like a great dolphin and the thin pure curve of a young moon hung in the green sky...

And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself

But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.

to be loved and found magical, like a secret…

I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.

And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, counting this row and that row of moccasins waiting on the silent shelf.

He turns the key. Presto! It opens this book of odd tales which transform the Brothers Grimm. Transform? As if an enlarged paper clip could be a piece of sculpture. (And it could.)

In spiritu et veritate ibi est magicae in omnibus