Best 3503 quotes in «magic quotes» category

Have you ever trained a girl to become a semizard?" "In all my years here?" He shook his auburn-tailed head slightly. "No." "Can't women use magic?" Smiling faintly that he had caught onto that, the wizard replied, "They already do.

Have you never thought how danger must surround power as shadow does light? This sorcery is not a game we play for pleasure or for praise. Think of this: that every word, every act of our Art is said and is done either for good, or for evil. Before you speak or do you must know the price that is to pay!

Have you never thought how danger must surround power as shadow does light? This sorcery is not a game we play for pleasure or for praise. Think of this: that every work, every act of our Art is said and is done either for good, or for evil. Before you speak or do you must know the price that is to pay!

Having books standing on a shelf in a room is like having completely different worlds at the ready, waiting to be explored.

He can surround a sword with flames." Freya sounded proud of him. That irritated Ena. He was her prisoner and only she had the right to feel proud of him as far as she was concerned.

He didn't believe in magic and demons. He believed in day and night, endurance and fury, cold mud and loneliness and the speed with which blood leaves the body

He didn’t want to admit that his daughter was something more now. I raised my hand guiding one of Nona’s lawn ornaments across the lawn. Making it dance. “Hope,” Dad warned from inside. I dropped it on the lawn. “Such a party pooper.

He’d used the amulet to read my thoughts again. I pictured smacking him in the face.

He felt a wonderful certainty. The impossible, he thought, the impossible is about to happen again.

He felt the magic pouring through his body. The tattoo twitched and with a shout of pain Vasilli could not hold in, the creature pulled itself from his body. It flopped, bloody as a newborn onto the ground and stretched its wings. It started to cry and grew to the size of a horse before it turned to Vasilli and lowered itself in a bow. “How may I serve, Master?” Its voice rasped through a mouth of venomous fangs.

He gave Sophie the smile which had no doubt charmed the Witch of the Waste and possibly Lettie too, firing it along the fork, across the cream, straight into Sophie’s eyes, dazzlingly. “If you can bully Calcifer, the King should give you no trouble at all.” Sophie stared through the dazzle and said nothing. This, she thought, was where she slithered out. She was leaving. It was too bad about Calcifer’s contract. She had had enough of Howl. First green slime, then glaring at her for something Calcifer had done quite freely, and now this! Tomorrow she would slip off to Upper Folding and tell Lettie all about it.

He goes directly to the ballroom, making his way to the center of the dance floor. He takes Celia’s arm, spinning her away from Herr Thiessen. Marco pulls her to him in an emerald embrace, so close that no one distinction remains between where his suite ends and her gown begins. To Celia there is suddenly no one else in the room as he holds her in his arms. But before she can vocalize her surprise, his lips close over hers and she is lost in wordless bliss. Marco kisses her as though they are the only two people in the world. The air swirls in a tempest around them, blowing open the glass doors to the garden with a tangle of billowing curtains. Every eye in the ballroom turns in their direction. And then he releases her and walks away. By the time Marco leaves the room, almost everyone has forgotten the incident entirely. It is replaced by a momentary confusion that is blamed on the heat or the excessive amounts of champagne. Herr Thiessen cannot recall why Celia has suddenly stopped dancing, or when her gown has shifted to its current deep green. “Is something wrong?” he asks, when he realizes that she is trembling.

He grasped her chin trying to make sense of her words, smearing her face with the blood of the people he had killed for her.

[H]e had heard of, but given little credence to, magic. There was always someone talking of folk remedies and charms, but it seemed to him the inclination of fools misunderstanding chance.

He had never seen anyone live so magically and yet leave no trace of it until he met her.

He had taken the precaution of closing the inside shutters of the only window, and his staff, though it leaned lightly on the door, was capable of keeping out anyone who did not want to smash his way in with an ax.

He had discovered that it was easier – far easier than any one could have supposed – to make oneself mad, but like all magic it was full of obstacles and frustrations. Even if he succeeded in summoning the fairy (which did not seem very likely), he would be in no condition to talk to him. Every book he had ever read on the subject urged magicians to be on their guard when dealing with fairies. Just when he needed all his wits, he would have scarcely any wits at all.

He had golden-brown hair, the most vivid baby-blue eyes, and a body that belonged on the cover of Men’s Health magazine. Her gaze roamed over his broad shoulders and down his chest.

He had won. He could release her at any time. But her lips... those soft, sweet petals were parting tremulously at the touch of his tongue, and she was granting him entry to the warmth of her mouth. He thrust boldly inside, wanting but one taste of her. Only one.

He has a magic touch. He can turn a G into a C. My heart was made of gold; now it's all cold.

He is indeed the true enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart.

He kissed me tenderly as my heart thumped out of control. My fingers slipped into his thick, black hair and held tightly. He paused, not wanting to pull away. I didn’t let him. I was going to say goodbye properly. I held tightly, pressing my lips to his, soft at first then hard with desire.

He kept wandering all his life until the day he met her. For the first time, he felt he should stop and never look back again. Everything else seemed worthless. Such was her magic.

He kissed her, and the magic that had been building up steadily around them exploded, raining down in arcs of silver fire that made her half-remember a prophecy from her dreams. One by one, they all will die. Something had been set into motion.

He kissed the corner of her lips before whispering by her ear, “And that was just my hand, love.

Hello,” he whispered. “It’s me.” “Who?” Her gaze traveled to the window. Her eyes widened. “What are you doing here?” Good question. “A proper cup of tea would be welcome.” She blinked and jerked her head. “What?” “Kidding.” He grinned. “I’m here to rescue you.

He loved the darkness and the mystery of the Catholic service--the tall priest strutting like a carrion crow and pronouncing magic in a dead language, the immediate magic of the Eucharist bringing the dead back to life so that the faithful could devour Him and become of Him, the smell of incense and the mystical chanting.

He loved to meditate on a land laid waste, Britain deserted by the legions, the rare pavements riven by frost, Celtic magic still brooding on the wild hills and in the black depths of the forest, the rosy marbles stained with rain, and the walls growing grey.

Helping someone feel they belong is a magic all its own.

He made a sound close to a growl before speaking. “Why do you resist my assistance?” She stopped walking and faced him. “Because I don't like you.

He mumbled words against her lips, too low for her to hear, but she imagined she got a strong impression of what he wanted to say, as he coaxed her lips apart, letting Scarlett taste the coolness of his tongue and the tips of his teeth as he grazed her lower lip. Every touch created colours she had never seen. Colours as soft as velvet and as sharp as sparks that turned into stars.

He pulled out handcuffs and snapped them around my wrists. "Where's your bag? You didn't bring your staff?" "I have it. It's hidden." Charlie was currently tucked inside the leg of my Harry Potter pajama bottoms, which were beneath my jeans, but that fell under the category of TMI.

Henry successfully kept his mind on the game, which might seem strange for a boy who slept beside a wall of magic. But baseball was as magical to him as a green, mossy mountain covered in ancient trees. What's more, baseball was a magic he could run around in and laugh about. While the magic of the cupboards was not necessarily good, the smell of leather mixed with dusty sweat and spitting and running through sparse grass after a small ball couldn't be anything else.

Her blond hair hung loose, cascading around her shoulders, and stopping over her breasts. She turned toward him, violet eyes meeting his gaze. For a moment, he lost all coherent thought.

Her arms reached up to wrap around his neck, holding on as if she would never let go. She kissed him back with an ardor that astonished, gratified, and aroused him all at once, and for a moment, he lost himself in the kiss, and in the woman, thinking to himself, now this, this is magic.

Her eyes widened, convinced by the size of it that his shaft was fully erect. She blinked several times. No, she was wrong. The bulge moved, growing as she watched it. "Not that I mind ya staring, love, but I've got an appointment I must keep.

Here is the most valuable thing in the whole of Moomin Valley, Groke! Do you know what has grown out of this hat? Raspberry juice and fruit trees, and the most beautiful little self-propelling clouds: the only Hobgoblin's Hat in the world!

Her eyes met his. “Just so you know, you’re already naked in my head.” He stole a kiss and went to the door. “I’m a damn lucky pirate. Meet me at the helm.

Her eyes were like the sea before a storm on the Carolina coast.

He sat beside her. "What sort of things did you dream of?" "Oh, what most young girls do, I imagine. Fey tales. True love." She gave a small, self-conscious laugh. "You.

Her voice, unfolding like a tiny bright memory in the darkest, furthest corner of my mind.

He roughly grated out, "Don't run from me. Not now. This is for both of us." He held her thighs apart to force her to continue to accept the powerful thrusts. Changing his angle ever so slightly, he hit that one location that turned her world into a starry night. Her body shattered. Muscles ripples, gripped, and clamped down.

Her words are her wings. She's flying.

He said he preferred to feel the earth sing through his feet, and that shoes stopped you from hearing the song of the earth.

He’s barely finished himself inside me when my release hits. My thighs tense. The breath stalls in my lungs, and then I kick back my head and let out the loudest, throatiest, and most breathless moan in the history of all history, going boneless in a blissful rush. “Gods, I missed you,” Griffin rasps, holding me as I throb around him. The high-impact tremors fade into sweet, lingering aftershocks. I look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. My lips part, but no words come out. Even the drag of frosty air over my kiss-swollen lips is almost too sensual to bear. Griffin quirks a dark eyebrow, looking smug. “That was easy.” I grin, falling in love with him all over again. “Then do it again.

He’s not wearing…” Charlotte began. “I know. He doesn’t,” Lydia answered.

He spoke!" Ivan said, eyes wide. "The dog talked! Oh my god." "An ancient witch you can believe in, but not a talking dragon that looks like a dog?" Chudo-Yudo said, sounding slightly piqued. "Hmph. Young people today have such limited imaginations.

He stood there, glowing like the sun, and stared at her like she was the unbelievable one.

He strolled over to the refrigerator, opened the door with one paw, and delicately picked up a beer between his teeth. He waited until clothes had stopped arcing through the air and hand it to Barbara.

He thought again of the watch in the window. It had twelve black numbers on its moon face and there was magic to that. For these were numbers that were not really numbers at all but letters like in words. He shivered at the possibilities of such untold magic.