Quotes About Magic

The secret to film is that it's an illusion.

Both rocketry and magic were rebellions against the very limits of human existence; in striving for one challenge he could not help but strive for the other.

Ever since Parsons had been a boy, however, the dark side of magic had captivated him. "I know that witchcraft is mostly nonsense, except where it is a blind," he wrote to Crowley in 1943, "but I am so nauseated by Christian and Theosophical guff about the 'good and the true' that I prefer the appearance of evil to that of good.

That was a lesson Melisandre had learned long before Asshai; the more effortless the sorcery appears, the more men fear the sorcerer.

A woman's life is nine parts mess to one part magic, you'll learn that soon enough...and the parts that look like magic turn out to be the messiest of all.

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice. So there is magic beyond the Wall after all.

You will never walk again, Bran," the pale lips promised, "but you will fly.

Sorcery is a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it.

Perhaps magic was once a mighty force in the world, but no longer. What little remains is no more than the wisp of smoke that lingers in the air after a great fire has burned out, and even that is fading. Valyria was the last ember, and Valyria is gone. The dragons are no more, the giants are dead, the children of the forest forgotten with all their lore.

Dragons are fire made flesh.

Oysters, clams, and cockles were cat's magic words, and like all good magic words they could take her almost anywhere.

Sorcery was a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it.

Bran was relieved . . . but disappointed too. So long as there was magic, anything could happen. Ghosts could walk, trees could talk, and broken boys could grow up to be knights. "But there isn't," he said aloud in the darkness of his bed. "There's no magic, and the stories are just stories." And he would never walk, nor fly, nor be a knight.

She was drunk on the magic of the night, giddy with glamour, swept away by beauties she had dreamt of all her life and never dared hope to know.

I do. My time is done." Jaqen passed a hand down his face from forehead to chin, and where it went he changed. His cheeks grew fuller, his eyes closer; his nose hooked, a scar appeared on his right cheek where no scar had been before. And when he shook his head, his long straight hair, half red and half white, dissolved away to reveal a cap of tight black curls.

Davos had often heard it said that the wizards of Valyria did not cut and chisel as common masons did, but worked stone with fire and magic as a potter might work clay.

Can our morrows be foretold?" he repeated slowly. "Mayhaps. There are certain spells in the old books … but Your Grace might ask instead, 'Should our morrows be foretold?

So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he'd dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it...

Sorcery is the sauce fools spoon over failure to hide the flavor of their own incompetence

Sure, kid. Look, there's a very old saying in my family: 'Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is another wizard fucking with you.

Kehidupan perempuan itu sembilan bagian kacau dan satu bagian ajaib, kau akan segera mengetahuinya... dan bagian yang kelihatannya ajaib nyatanya malah yang paling kacau

Jakie? czarodziejskie zakl?cie w ruch go wprawia?o. Kto jest zakl?cia tego w?odarzem. Co na tym zyska?, ?e go wy??czy?. Có? to za machina. Jakim cudem w ogóle dzia?a?a. Jak?? nap?dzana iskr?. Wspania?a machina. Akuratnie dostrojona. Iskr? otrzymawszy, do ?ycia si? zerwa?a. Kto iskr? t? zgasi?? (...) Kto by ?mia?. Zniszczy? taki cud.

Why will it not work. What magic word made it work. Who is the keeper of that word. What did it profit Him to switch this one off. What a contraption it is. How did it ever run. What spark ran it. Grand little machine. Set up just so. Receiving the spark, it jumped to life. What put out that spark? What a sin it would be. Who would dare. Ruin such a marvel. Hence is murder anathema. God forbid I should ever commit such a grievous—

One is not a "believer" in fairy tales. There is no theology, no body of dogma, no ritual, no institution, no expectation for a form of behavior. They are about the unexpectedness and mutability of the world.