Best 3503 quotes in «magic quotes» category

Be as a seed, a seed for change. Allow my gift to grow and rearrange. Multiple blessings for many. For those with none, let there be plenty. p64

Beautiful sunrise in the far away mountains, painting the wide horizon with vibrant warm colors, among the chill from the morning breeze. ☥

Beauty, happiness, they're things so big they can't capture them with their scientific words. It's like what they used to call magic.

Beauty to beguile, spies to ensnare, and gold, always gold, to tempt, to trap, to control.

Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic.

Because now, the magic is everywhere.

Because if I lost her, I would be lost, too.

Because i am magic and,you are my precious stone.

Because true magic is found in the depth of one's soul.

Because when you finally find the one against all odds, you give him your best and let the magic of the world carry the rest.

Because words are magic too, and they can contain everything.

Because you tred upon my dreams, the world is made of magic things.

Because words are a magic too, and they can contain everything.

Beck stabbed a hand through his hair and continued.

Be confident to make your magic.

Before long, the smokey spectre appeared, as I knew it would, the barest whisper of a shadow, inky and incandescent. It darted forwards, then back, closer, then ppfft, it was gone in an instant, only to return, darker and more substantial. As ever, it grew bolder, and bolder, until finally it dared to drift through the window and into my home. Every night I had lain here, the geist had come.

Before the day there was only endless night. When the stars rained down from the skies, and giants and other unfathomable creatures roamed the land, there was a goddess who ruled over them all because she had been clever enough to figure out the secret of time and how to walk between worlds.

Before you find the magic of life you have to open yourself up to the possibility of it being there.

Being an angel feels pretty silly right now too - Alexis Darn

Being around a magician is like that ... Like everything is bending around them because they're brushing the stardust and raindrops from another world off their shoulders.

Being the Magician isn't about being powerful when you have things and useless when you don't," Persephone said. "The Magician sees what is out there and finds connections. The Magician can make anything magical.

Being gifted means facing the next level of depth without ever being repulsed by the curse that comes with the magic of being different.

Belief is where Magic, whether light or dark, is based on. Without belief, there is no Magic.

Belief is both a marvelous and a terrible thing. Belief makes things real.

Believe in your heart that you're meant to live a life full of passion, purpose, magic and miracles.

Believe in magic. Believe in the impossible

Believe in things impossible, love the magic of a place, mystery in a person, passion in a relationship and seek adventures in life.. Live the life don't go through it..

Believe in yourself. That's real magic.

Believe is a powerful word to see and to say. But that morning, I felt it. And feeling it was the best of all. I knew something wonderful was about to happen to me. I didn't know what, or why, or how. But I believed.

Bella laughed, her head thrown back to expose the smooth line of her throat, and Sam suddenly lost his train of thought. While they'd been eating, the sun had set, and the sight of Bella standing in the moonlight laughing took his breath away. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything so beautiful in his life. And that was more terrifying than any fire.

Ben let a slow smile play over his face. He loved this part. It always felt like revealing to a disbeliever that he had magical powers or something.

Benny pushed a slow breath through his teeth. “Is it so terrible to believe in something?

Books are a portable kind of time travel. We go back as well as forward when we read them. When we come back into the now, after being immersed in worlds previously unknown to us, we find ourselves, transformed. Touched by their magic, nothing we ever perceived beforehand remains quite the same.

Be silent like a rock, deeply rooted and straight like a tree, bend like a reed in the wind, listen to the sounds that your ears ignore, and feel the world through your intuition. The latter will never betray you, your senses will!

Be still in peace and reach your highest peak.

Be the woman who is remembered for living life to its fullest!

Beware Stephen! There will probably be a magical combat of some sort. I daresay I shall have to take on different forms – cockatrice, raw head and bloody bones, rains of fire, etc., etc. You may wish to stand back a little!

Bir şeyleri dışarı atıp kapıyı kilitlediğinde, aslında kendini içeri kilitlemiş oluyorsun.

Books" - Snell smiled - "are a kind of magic.

Books are another kind of magic.

Books are the only things worth stealing.

Books, I think, are what magic smells like.

Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the Universe together into one garment for us.

Border crossing' is a recurrent theme in all aspects of my work -- editing, writing, and painting. I'm interested in the various ways artists not only cross borders but also subvert them. In mythology, the old Trickster figure Coyote is a champion border crosser, mischievously dashing from the land of the living to the land of the dead, from the wilderness world of magic to the human world. He tears things down so they can be made anew. He's a rascal, but also a culture hero, dancing on borders, ignoring the rules, as many of our most innovative artists do. I'm particularly drawn to art that crosses the borders critics have erected between 'high art' and 'popular culture,' between 'mainstream' and 'genre,' or between one genre and another -- I love that moment of passage between the two; that place on the border where two worlds meet and energize each other, where Coyote enters and shakes things up. But I still have a great love for traditional fantasy, for Imaginary World, center-of-the-genre stories. I'm still excited by series books and trilogies if they're well written and use mythic tropes in interesting ways.

[Bruno] Latour argues that one of the foundational gestures of western modernity has been the effort to formulate and police a heightened antimony between nonhuman nature and human culture. -- Randall Styers, Making Magic, p. 17

Broken things can be fixed and healed. Nothing is too difficult or too dirty to clean.

Brodie found herself frowning in confusion, the rugged handsome one was making no sense. “But I just want to have sex with you… no commitment, no sharing. If anything, I would prefer it if you didn’t talk at all, before, during, or after the act.

Buggeroff, enchanté!

Business was doing well, because all the locals knew that dishes made from the flowers that grew around the apple tree in the Waverley garden could affect the eater in curious ways. The biscuits with lilac jelly, the lavender tea cookies, and the tea cakes made with nasturtium mayonnaise the Ladies Aid ordered for their meetings once a month gave them the ability to keep secrets. The fried dandelion buds over marigold-petal rice, stuffed pumpkin blossoms, and rose-hip soup ensured that your company would notice only the beauty of your home and never the flaws. Anise hyssop honey butter on toast, angelica candy, and cupcakes with crystallized pansies made children thoughtful. Honeysuckle wine served on the Fourth of July gave you the ability to see in the dark. The nutty flavor of the dip made from hyacinth bulbs made you feel moody and think of the past, and the salads made with chicory and mint had you believing that something good was about to happen, whether it was true or not.

But a smell shivered him awake. It was a scent as old as the world. It was a hundred aromas of a thousand places. It was the tang of pine needles. It was the musk of sex. It was the muscular rot of mushrooms. It was the spice of oak. Meaty and redolent of soil and bark and herb. It was bats and husks and burrows and moss. It was solid and alive - so alive! And it was close. The vapors invaded Nicholas' nostrils and his hair rose to their roots. His eyes were as heavy as manhole covers, but he opened them. Through the dying calm inside him snaked a tremble of fear. The trees themselves seemed tense, waiting. The moonlight was a hard shell, sharp and ready to ready be struck and to ring like steel. A shadow moved. It poured like oil from between the tall trees and flowed across dark sandy dirt, lengthening into the middle of the ring. Trees seem to bend toward it, spellbound. A long, long shadow...