Best 3503 quotes in «magic quotes» category

Science, you don't know, looks like magic.

Seduction begins with insinuation, what may happen, not what is, what you may become to the person, not today what you are.

Seduction is not like a veiling cloth but rather like water as it has the power to flow in the direction you want it to. Not where you put your direct focus, rather the point of focus must be somewhere else. Because all water go to the ocean, the ocean does not come to it.

Seek Knowledge, Protect Knowledge, Share Knowledge.

See, this is my opinion: we all start out knowing magic. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God's sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they'd allowed to wither in themselves.

See, those who wield the primordial forces of creation have a long-running grudge with physics.

Seek your origins, embrace the unknown.

Shadow is on the move," a soldier said suddenly.... "We spotted her in the West atrium, then she vanished into the unfinished apartments. Scared the shit out of Dr. Marea on four, then ended up in the kitchen ogling a cheesecake.

Sex was this primal connection like no magick she had ever known, even separated by a millimeter of latex. She knew that some combined the two and, while she could see how this would improve the magick, it would dilute the sex.

Shandy looked ahead. Blackbeard, apparently willing to get the explanation later, had picked up his oars and was rowing again. 'May I presume to suggest,' yelled Shandy giddily to Davies, 'that we preoceed the hell out of here with all due haste.' Davies pushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead and sat down on the rower's thwart. 'My dear fellow consider it done.

Share with others what is working and not working and watch magic happen in your life as you help others.

She advanced into the chaos of light and darkness.

She blames herself. I hurt from knowing that I hurt her. Even when we know all of these other people are to blame. My friends. The media. Not her. Not me. I can’t help myself. I continue the cycle and I say, “I don’t want to hurt you.” Lily is quiet for a moment before she says, “I’m tougher than you think. You just need to believe in me. You know, like a fairy.” I do believe in fairies. I do. I do. The jubilant chorus from Peter Pan fills my ears. I look up at her, tears in both our eyes. Is that how we end this? I trust that I can share my grief with her and that she won’t crumble beneath the pain? She nods to me like go on. I can handle it.

She blinked against the sting of tears. Fury curled in her stomach. She narrowed her eyes, and slapped him. She gritted out "May you never find satisfaction with another woman.

She believed in magic—the magic of places, the magic of people, the magic of coincidences, serendipity, and fortune. She enjoyed wandering through the world with the open mind and curiosity of a four-year-old child. In her world the mystical, mythical, and magical inhabited the same space and time as the ordinary and the practical. At Bethesda Terrace, she always felt close to a source of magic and creativity. It was as if she was tapping into the place where dragons, angels, gods, sorceresses, and demons came to life.

She’d been seconds away from kissing the man… no, throttling him, for his sheer audacity.  “You expect me to bat my eyes and thrust my tits into some hairy creature’s face and then run away like a giggling simpleton?” “They only have the one eye under all that hair, and their eyesight is notoriously bad, so you can probably just keep your… tits where they are.

She clambered to the shoreline. Numb and shaken, she began to dress. It wasn’t easy as she fumbled with slick fingers to put dry clothes over wet skin. She instantly regretted her naked swim. She pulled on her long-sleeved white chemise first. She faced the forest, away from her rescuer. He quietly splashed to shore. His lifeblood burned into her back. He wasn’t far behind, but he stopped. She refused to look at him until she was fully clothed, not out of embarrassment of her nudity, but for what had just happened. He released a groan and mumbled under his breath about wet boots. His voice was not one of her father’s soldiers. When she put the last garment on, her brown wool work kirtle, she squeezed out her sopping hair and swept her hands through the knotty mess. She fastened her belt and tied the lacings up the front of the kirtle. Blood returned to her fingertips, and she regained her composure. Belated awareness struck her, and she leaned down and searched through her bag for her dagger. She spun around. She gasped as she saw the man sitting on the stone-covered shoreline, his wet boots off. Confusion and the hint of a scowl filled his strong-featured face. She staggered back, caught her heel on a stone, and fell, dropping the dagger. Dirt and pebbles stuck to her wet hands and feet, and she instinctively scrambled away from him. His glower, iridescent dark blue eyes, and disheveled black hair were not unfamiliar. Staring at her was the man she had seen in her dream – it was the man from the wood.

She could feel energy thrumming in the prince’s movements, but it was tightly contained. Everything about him whispered control. Maybe that was the problem, she thought. Too much control made for a rigid heart. Hearts were made to beat steadily, yes, but they were also meant to tremble.

She didn't even want to think of how hellish it would be if all the MacGregors made her feel like this one did, all hot and shaky. She'd have to move to the Arctic Circle before the month was out just to cool off.

She’d bought a blue notebook in the pharmacy to write down her aunt’s remedies. Star tulip to understand dreams, bee balm for a restful sleep, black mustard seed to repel nightmares, remedies that used essential oils of almond or apricot or myrrh from thorn trees in the desert. Two eggs, which must never be eaten, set under a bed to clean a tainted atmosphere. Vinegar as a cleansing bath. Garlic, salt, and rosemary, the ancient spell to cast away evil.

She didn't know any better. Nobody had ever told her that she couldn't. Because of this, she moved through the city like some faerie creature. She walked roads no one else could see, and it made her music wild and strange and free.

She didn’t make him out to be perfect. Vhalla knew Aldrik was horribly flawed. But so was she. He was prone to anger and she prone to selfishness. But they strove together to be better, for themselves and for each other.

She'd have no purpose in a world like this one,' I explained. 'Not now. Even if we did rebuild her-and if I thought we could, if I thought that would make you both happy...' I shook my head. 'In any case, with all that being beside the point, she'd be too big for how things stand in Thremedon now. So, the only other alternative would be to make her smaller- take that same spark she had, reduce her to something tiny enough to fit in your pocket, or in the palm of your hand. And that's all wrong too, isn't it? She wouldn't be the same. What you might have thought you could do- return to a time and place when the war was still being fought, when the Corps was still trying to win- it would require a different sort of magician. I don't think there's ever been one that powerful.

She emerges from the station directly across from the restaurant. And she's right on time. Like magic, Sonya thinks, briefly saddened to realize that this is what magic means now: not being late, not getting lost on the subway. Whatever happened to the fairy godmothers, to all those bunnies yanked out of hats?

Sheer male interest filled his gaze which was entirely focused on her. She'd never before felt so female, so utterly desirable, so wanton.

She glanced down and gasped, and her arms slapped into place to cover all her most interesting bits. He grinned. The robe and gown were sheer and he had not spun undergarments. She scowled. "This is not what I would call being 'very, very good.'" "That is a matter of perspective, shei'tani. From where I'm standing, it looks very, very good indeed.

She had magic in her pink palms and her cheeks lit to a lovely flame, like the thrilling flush of children after their cold baths in the evening.

She has a charm that is incomparable. She has a beautiful heart that flows with love. And she has a sensitive soul that enthralls with magic. She was the spark I had been waiting for all my life.

[...] She knew it a book it was not just a book. Everything had a meaning. There was an invisible web that connected the words. It was like magic

She is like magic, completely untouchable. Only those aligned with themselves, know the secret to still feeling her.

She is the closest thing to magic.

She knows exactly what I like and what it does to me. She worships my body in its entirety and I allow it—I crave it.

She leaves my side and heads deeper into the apartment singing, “—if the spirit tries to hide, its temple far away… a copper for those they ask, a diamond for those who stay.

She looked at her best friend as he unraveled the tightly wound cord from his heart and told her what she had been hoping to hear." from the upcoming The Witch of Belle Fleur

She loved her mother, but she loved Kestrel more than her own life.

She never allowed the external world to change her soul, that was her magic.

She's as common as pig tracks. Just her being here lowers the tone of the entire city.

She said, "Daddy thinks that all the world's magic is almost evolved out." I thought of Roebuck Lake, its swamps and sloughs and loblollies and breaks of cypress and cane, its sunken treetops and stobs and bream beds and sleepy gar rolling over and over and over, its baptizing pools and bridges and mussels and mosquitoes and turkey vultures and, now in the drought, the gray flaking mud-flats and logs crowded with turtles and sometimes a fat snake yawning its tame old cottony mouth like a well-fed dog in a pen. I said, "Is that what the freak show is?" She said, "Dirty miracles.

She scrambled to her feet, uncaring that a stray knee and elbow had Erik wincing. “How can you be groaning about a simple knee to the groin when you’ve just been battered by flying furniture, candelabras and hit on the head by a pot plant that must weigh a ton or more?” “I’ll have you know there is nothing simple about my groin…” He shot her his predatory grin, the one he often reserved for her breasts. Run little girl, run far and run fast… take those tempting curves, enticing kissable lips and award winning breasts with you.

She squinted at his nametag. Her eyes weren't quite working. "What's your name?" "Stig." "Stick?" she asked, half ready to believe it. He shook his head and pointed his long index finger at the name stitched on his uniform. "S-T-I-G. Stig." Harriet's breath caught. "I can't believe it. I've been looking for you.

She knew him as much as the knowing of her own heart’s secret: she was destined for the forest.

She looked in the cupboards to get some ideas. "I've got it!" she shrieked. "I'll make Bat Ear Tortillas!

She opened her eyes and touched her lips, as though he had just kissed them. She could taste him.

She paused in the doorway, tipping her head to consider Brittany, who only glared. "You're right. I think most girls don't look like the tooth fairy dresses them every day.

She once told him about the mysterious trampled-down places found in fields, which the peasants superstitiously called werewolves' nests. Coming across one of these sites, she fell to her knees and buried her face in the flattened yellow grasses, hoping to inhale the odor of a werewolf, a csordásfarkas. As if his scent was a charm. She smelled nothing but hay burned by the afternoon sun.

She sagged against the wall, finding it hard to breathe. It wasn’t from fear. Gods, she hadn’t been that turned on in years. If that was her punishment, she was going to be lippy a little more often

She shook her head. "I can't believe you got bit and you didn't even get an orgasm out of it. I guess True Blood isn't true after all.

She's coming,” Isadora whispered. Maximilion's nostrils flared. "Then let her come.

She stared at the leaf in her hands and then at me. “What the hell was that?” “That was you,” I said. “You’re magic.

She told me later that her parents had told her to steer clear of me at school. "My mum said that nobody really knew where you came from. And that you might be dangerous." "Why didn't you listen to her?" I asked. "Because nobody knew where you came from, Simon! And you might be dangerous!" "You have the worst survival instincts." "Also, I felt sorry for you," she said. "You were holding your wand backwards.