Quotes About Magic

Psychics were therapists for people who couldn't admit they needed therapy. They were magic for people who desperately needed a little magic, back before magic was real

None of that seemed real, but the world would certainly be cooler with something so unreal in it.

It is said that faerie children are not like mortal children. They need little in the way of love. They need not be tucked in at night, but may sleep just as happily in a cold corner of a ballroom, curled up in a tablecloth. They need not be fed; they are just as happy lapping up dew and skimming bread and cream from the kitchens. They need not be comforted, since they seldom weep. But if faerie children need little love, faerie princes require some counsel.

The whole place looks straight out of a fairy tale, the kind where love is a simple thing. never the cause of pain.

They were in love with him because he was a prince and a faerie and magical and you were supposed to love princes and faeries and magic people. They loved him the way they'd loved Beast the first time he swept Belle around the dance floor in her yellow dress. They loved him as they loved the Eleventh Doctor with his bow tie and his flippy hair and the Tenth Doctor with his mad laugh.

You're going to be okay,' I say. 'You know,' he says, hanging on to me, 'that ought to be reassuring. But when mortals say it, it doesn't mean the same thing as when the Folk do, does it? For you, it's an appeal. A kind of hopeful magic. You say I will be well because you fear I won't be.

Cardan's fingers dig into my back. He's trembling, and whether it is from ebbing magic or horror, I am not sure. But he holds me as though I am the only solid thing in the world.

sprites wearing acorn caps and wielding glaives the size of toothpicks battled above a sea of tiger lilies.

Only in Faerieland is a giant toad the less conspicuous choice.

They say that he can talk flowers into opening their petals at night, as though his face were that of the sun. He'll steal your heart.

I can't believe I was worried magic school was going to be so dangerous," Call said, squinting at the sand pile. "You could die of boredom," said Aaron. Call snickered. Tamara looked up at them miserably. "The thought of that is the only thing that's going to keep me going.

I miss Faerieland with a raw intensity. It's magic I long for, magic I miss. Maybe I even miss being afraid. I feel as though I am dreaming away my days, restless, never fully awake.

But love was also transforming. I knew that from fairy tales. It could turn you back from a cat or a frog or a beast. Probably it could turn you into those things, too.

Please,' I say to the dirt floor of the brugh, to the earth itself. 'I will do whatever you want. I will give up the crown. I will make any bargain. Just please fix him. Help me break the curse.' I concentrate and concentrate, but the magic doesn't come.

She didn't have to use any magic. I trust you. I trusted you.

The Folk do not rot the way mortals do. Sometimes their bodies grow over with lichen or bloom with mushrooms. I've heard stories about battlefields turning in to green hills.

The polished wood door is still carved with an enormous and sinister face, still flanked with lanterns, but sprites no longer fly in desperate circles within. A soft glow of magic emanates instead. 'My king,' the door says fondly, it's eyes opening. Cardan smiles in return. 'My door,' he says with a slight hitch in his voice, as though perhaps everything about returning here feel strange. 'Hail and welcome,' it says, and swings wide.

I was afraid of magic from the first moment that Lady Nore and Lord Jarel stepped into my bedroom in the mortal world. And I couldn't stop being afraid of myself. Afraid of the monster I saw when I glimpsed my reflection in still pools, in windows. But all I am is magic. Unmagic. I am not nothing. I am what is beyond nothing. Annihilation. I am the unraveler. I can pull apart magic with a thought.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Taryn. She suffered many indignities at the hands of the magical people called the Folk, yet she never was anything but kind, no matter how they despised her. Then one day, a fox-haired faerie boy looked upon her and saw her virtue and her loveliness, so he took her to be his bride. And on his arm, dressed in a gown as bright as the stars, the other Folk saw her for the first time. They knew that they'd misjudged her and…

why it's a scary story.

Were you a happy child?' 'I was magic. How could I fail to be?

Trees of ice grow blue fruits the size of peaches, encased in a frozen crust. Some have fallen and split open like candy apples. The scent is that of honey and spice and sap. The leaves of the trees give off a haunting sound not unlike wind chimes when the air blows through the branches.

Listen," I say, my gaze going to the road, watching for headlights. "I don't know how long I have, but if Bogdana knows where you are, it's not safe. Fill your pockets with salt. Rowan berries will keep you from being glamoured by their magic. They hate cold-wrought iron. And they can't lie." I correct myself. "We. We can't lie.

The more horrible the story, the more it is cherished. Faeries may not be able to lie, but stories grow here as they do anywhere, fed on ambition and envy and desire.