Quotes About Magic

Hummingbirds are less flesh than fairies. They are little more than bubbles fringed with iridescent feathers—air wrapped in light.

Some say romance novels are pure fantasy because of that happy ending, but the truth is that romantic love is everyday magic and happy endings happen every minute. Falling in love is one of the core elements of the human condition; it touches us all.

You will never win anyone through pity. You must create the right kind of dream, the sober, adult kind of magic: illusion born from disillusion.

I am the magician's girl who does not flinch.

Stupid girl. You will never win anyone through pity. You must create the right kind of dream, the sober, adult kind of magic: illusion born from disillusion.

You are twenty. You are not dead, although you were dead. The girl who died. And was resurrected. Children. Witches. Magic. Symbols. Remember the illogic of the fantasy.

You must create the right kind of dream, the sober, adult kind of magic: illusion born from disillusion.

Write about the cow, Mrs. Spaulding's heavy eyelids, the smell of vanilla flavoring in a brown bottle. That's where the magic mountains begin.

Piece by piece, as at the strokes of a dull godmother's wand, the old world sprang back into position.

You are twenty. You are not dead, although you were dead. The girl who died. And was resurrected. Children. Witches. Magic. Symbols. Remember the illogic of the fantasy. The strange tableau in the closet behind the bathroom: the feast, the beast, and the jelly-bean. Recall, remember: please do not die again.

In the corner of my garden There is a favorite spot, Which sun and rain tend faithfully And which I planted not. Here is the haven of wild flowers, The kingdom of birds and bees; Here in the silvery moonlight Sprites dance 'neath singing trees.

She personifies the word cute. She is Cinderella and Wendy and Snow White.

When we talk about Poetry, with a capital P, we are apt to think only of the more intense emotions or the more magical phrase: nevertheless there are a great many casements in poetry which are not magic, and which do not open on the foam of perilous seas, but are perfectly good windows for all that.

In the dust of Her feet are the hosts of heaven/and Her star sequined hair/ Is crowned with a coven of six and seven/Blue suns burning there. —VICTOR H. ANDERSON (IN HIS POEM "QUAKORALINA," IN Thorns of the Blood Rose)

Beyond anger, beneath fear, past numbness and alienation, there rests within each of us the possibility to be more than we are now. Magic is available. Wholeness is just around the corner. The power of wholeness is the power to change the world.

To work magic is to dare. Finding our Divine Work in the world is a chance to risk what feels known. We must learn to trust intuition, and listen to the longing in our souls. To find your soul's work, follow your heart's desire.

Good stories will tell you that facing the lie is the worst terror of all. And there is no talisman or magic sword that is half so potent a weapon as truth

Fritti, too, his head full of Hushpad and Firefoot and red claws, finally crossed the borders of the dream-fields. The furry tangle of Folk drowsed and mumbled away the waning Hour of Final Dancing.

Books,' Morgenes said grandly, leaning back on his precarious stool, '--books are magic. That is the simple answer. And books are traps as well.' 'Magic? Traps?' 'Books are a form of magic--' the doctor lifted the volume he had just laid on the stack, '--because they span time and distance more surely by any spell or charm.

What is it you want, fairy woman?" he asked at last. "I have dead men to burn and a siege to finish." Ayaminu

Andrew Cairns has written, quite literally, a bewitching novel, one that speaks to an underbelly which lies dormant in us all. The Witch's List bridges our world of convention, with that of a fabulous Twlilight Zone, what may be true reality -- a realm of magic and ultimate possibility. I recommend this book because, behind the smokescreen of simplicity, there lies a masked bedrock of extraordinary power.

Without patience, magic would be undiscovered - in rushing everything, we would never hear its whisper inside.

At last Niko dropped his hands, and opened his eyes. His perfect tree illusion solidified and settled. Very nice, said Briar with approval. Couldn't have done better myself Couldn't do it at all yourself, muttered Tris. Briar ignored her. But you'd never find a cork oak in these parts. Too cold. Niko looked down his nose at the boy. I beg your pardon? Briar shrugged. Just thought I'd mention it. Niko glared.

Now to find Tristan, if he survived the excitement. I hope he did. I have some things to say to him, and none of them are 'Goddess bless'. -Numair Salmalin