Best 3503 quotes in «magic quotes» category

I look at the others, simpering courtiers and visiting dignitaries, all unsuspecting of what is to come. A merciful man should spare them, but I had mercy cut out of me at a young age.

I looked at my own mirror inside your eyes. you were a wake-up call to my closed conscience. gratitude for the awakening touch of magic wand

I looked into her eyes, and saw my own staring back, the same peculiar shade, pale grey, flecked with yellow, rimmed with black. Now I knew the nature of her debt. It had weighed on her conscience for fourteen years. I was looking into the eyes of mother and I knew that I would never see her again.

I loved your world, Noah. It was a magical place, where there were stars and love, and there was hope. Hope. I don’t think you know how it is not to have that. I stole some of yours. It was beautiful, but there were too many secrets between us, and I always knew I’d have to give it back.

I love fairies so much. I would so love to touch one, whispered Julia in excitement. “U can touch me.But please don't touch my wings,they are very fragile,”replied 1 fairy.“I’m Farina,the fairy queen.

i love watching what you become when life thinks it has you cornered.

I love you all for bearing with me, whether I was asking your opinion on the best sources to base the magic in the book off of, hearing your suggestions on wording, or having an argument with you on just how "that sentence has completely correct grammar." On that note, also telling me when the fantasy just got way too cheesy.

I love you, and I would walk through fire a thousand more times if I needed to if it meant you were safe" She put her head down on my chest as if she was checking to see if I was breathing. "But..." She lifted her head with worry. "One thousand and one is where I draw the line." - Ellipsis: Creators of six book one.

I love you." Why it worked right then, why the webbing of my godmother's spell frayed as though the words had been an open flame, I don't know. I haven't found any explanation for it. There aren't any magical words, really. The words just hold the magic. They give it a shape and a form, they make it useful, describe the images within. I'll say this, though: Some words have a power that has nothing to do with supernatural forces. They resound in the heart and mind, they live long after the sounds of them have died away, they echo in the heart and the soul. They have power, and that power is very real. Those three words are good ones.

Imagine all your life the earth is green and brown and quiet. Your days pass slowly. You celebrate the sun. All magic is of trees and dappled shadows, all mountains peaked eruptions from an old ancestral earth, a ground so sacred there has been no cause to name it.

Imagination can create crazy things in a place you don't know.

Imagine, and it shall be. There are no limits.⁠⁠⁠⁠

Magic is a funny term,' she'd say. 'There is nothing supernatural about the earth. As long as you know what does what.

I’m a moon junky. Every time I look at the moon I feel less alone and less afraid. I tell my boys that moonlight is a magic blanket and the stars above are campfires set by friendly aliens.

I'm an Atheist. I don't believe in God, Gods, Godlets or any sort of higher power beyond the universe itself, which seems quite high and powerful enough to me. I don't believe in life after death, channeled chat rooms with the dead, reincarnation, telekinesis or any miracles but the miracle of life and consciousness, which again strike me as miracles in nearly obscene abundance. I believe that the universe abides by the laws of physics, some of which are known, others of which will surely be discovered, but even if they aren't, that will simply be a result, as my colleague George Johnson put it, of our brains having evolved for life on this one little planet and thus being inevitably limited. I'm convinced that the world as we see it was shaped by the again genuinely miraculous, let's even say transcendent, hand of evolution through natural selection.

I’m calling this place the Tardis,” she said, continuing to scan the different locations. “We’re not calling it the Tardis,” I said. Of course, if she knew what it could really do, I’d never change her mind. “Why the hell not?” she asked. “Copyright infringement.

I'm convinced Midnight Gulch can't be the only magical town in the world. I bet there's a snicker of magic on every street, in every old building, every broken heart, every word of a story. Maybe it's hidden away and you need to look harder for it. Or maybe the magic is right there, right in front of you, and all you have to do is believe.

I mean real magic of course-- because in a few pages, you'll discover that this is a magical pencil box hat, which is pretty lucky really, because you don't find too many of those nowadays.

...I'm hanging onto my sanity by a thread. I'll have you up against this tree and be inside you in about one second.

Im happy to sit and be an ear to listen when the world gets wild but Id much prefer to watch the ways your eyes in sparkle in the midst of convincing me why you love the things you do. It gives me hope that someone else out there feels everything with this much depth and has the willingness to create a beautiful life from it.

I’m in mid-passage, darling,” he said, beginning to talk like a queen so as to demystify himself, so as to destroy the very qualities John Schaeffer had fallen in love with, “I’m menopausal, change of life, hot flashes, you know. Wondering how much longer I can go without hair transplants and whether Germaine Monteil really works on the crow’s feet. I’ve had it, I’ve been through the mill, I’m a jaded queen. But you, dear, you have that gift whose loss the rest of life is just a funeral for—why else do you suppose those gray-haired gentlemen,” he said, nodding at his friends on the floor, “make money, buy houses, take trips around the world? Why else do they dwindle into a little circle of close friends, a farm upstate, and become in the end mere businessmen, shop-owners, decorators who like their homes filled with flowers and their friends flying in on Air France and someone pretty like you at the dinner table? It is all, my dear, because they are no longer young. Because they no longer live in that magic world that is yours for ten more years. Adolescence in America ends at thirty.

I'm named after my great grand-mother...while you've never heard of her, in my mind she's practically a celebrity.

I'm not like Wolverine, but I can heal fast.

I’m not like you. I’ve never cared about keeping relationships or sparing people’s feelings. All I’ve ever cared about is power: how to get it, and how to keep it. I told you as much when we met.

I'm not really sure what I'm going to do when I get there, but that's why someone invented the fine art of improv. Or, when that fails, stalling.

I’m not really sure why Ziggy puts up with me. I’m broken. Mostly because of the broken woman who spawned me. I swear, adults should have to get a license to make a kid. Prove they’ve got their shit together before they bring a child into the world. My mom tried, I think. She thought she could piece herself into something resembling a mother by dropping the drugs and dropping the need to feed her overblown selfish streak. But she failed.

I’m not that pitiful little girl you bullied last year.

I'm only a kind of book doctor. I can give books new bindings, rejuvenate them a little, stop the bookworms from eating them, and prevent them from losing their pages over the years like a man loses his hair. But inventing the stories in them, filling new, empty pages with right words-- I can't do that. That's a very different trade. A famous writer once wrote, 'An author can be seen as three things: a storyteller, a teacher, or magician-- but a magician, the enchanter, is in the ascendant.

I’m related to one. Can you believe that? It was bad enough thinking I was paranoid, going crazy or maybe just cursed, but to find out Gods are real and that I’m related to one… life sucks lemons and I’ve run out of tequila and salt.

I'm so glad I have my own copy. I can read them again and again. I can read them again and again on trains, all my life, and every time I do I'll remember today and it will connect up. (Is that magic?)

I'm sorry. I just meant that all this is new to me. I get lost sometimes." I give her my most honest expression.

I'm writing a book on magic”, I explain, and I'm asked, “Real magic?” By real magic people mean miracles, thaumaturgical acts, and supernatural powers. “No”, I answer: “Conjuring tricks, not real magic”. Real magic, in other words, refers to the magic that is not real, while the magic that is real, that can actually be done, is not real magic.

i'm your enemy, meghan. never forget that. if Mab tells me to kill you in front of the entire court, it's my duty to obey.

In a fight between a shifter and a witch, the shifter would often win—but only if they could keep the witch from speaking, usually by severing the throat or tearing out the tongue. If the witch was powerful enough, and quick enough, physical size didn't matter. Catherine had heard of the horrible ways the witches could kill their victims. Cooking them alive from the inside out, restricting oxygen flow through the nasal and oral passages by creating a vacuum, drowning them with vapor pulled from the very air. It made fights between shifters look almost humane by comparison.

I named you once, I think," he said, and then strode to his house and entered, bearing the bird still on his wrist.

In a near-by clearing, Cricket and How-Ya-Do came upon a ridiculously comical sight. It was an extra-large hyper-manic bird yelling at the funniest looking Crawfish that she had ever seen. The Crawfish stood over a foot tall, which just does not happen, and he was wearing a light-blue beanie and gold chains around his neck.

In cases of organized and multi-perpetrator abuse when the abuse occurs in the context of rituals and ceremonies, some elements of the experience may have been staged specifically with the intention of encouraging the disbelief of others if the victim were to report the crime. For example, someone reporting such a crime may mention that the devil was present, or that someone well-known was there, or that acts of magic were performed. These were tricks and deceptions by the abusers-often experienced by the victims after being given medication or hallucinogenic drugs - that render the account unbelievable, make the witness sound unreliable, and protect the perpetrators. (page 120, Chapter 9, Some clinical implications of believing or not believing the patient)

In ancient Greece, the word for "cook," "butcher," and "priest" was the same -- mageiros -- and the word shares an etymological root with "magic.

In a world of dwindling light, you're a bonfire in the night.

In darkness lies a mystery that has the power to shine brighter than true light. ☥

Independence' is a magic word, because nowhere in the Cosmos does it actually exist.

In Demons of the Flesh, Zeena describes how Shiva and Shakti are actually ‘two sides of the same deity’. The goal of the initiate on the left-hand path is to become ‘this bisexual twin godhead’ and activate a state of perceptual sexual ecstasy within one's own consciousness. Zeena points out that a corresponding symbolism is found in the western hermeticism in the idea of ‘the inner androgyne.’ --About Zeena Schreck by Malin Fitger 'Contemporary notions of Kundalini, its background and role within new Western religiosity,' University of Stockholm, 2004

I never saw this coming - the little house was working its magic, connecting me to people and materials I never would have guessed would find their way into the picture.

Never stop believing in magic.

In his fight against the powers of the surrounding world his first weapon was magic, the first forerunner of our modern technology. We suppose that this confidence in magic is derived from the over-estimation of the individual’s own intellectual operations, from the belief in the ‘omnipotence of thoughts’, which, incidentally, we come across again in our obsessional neurotics.

In fact, people who posses not magic at all can instill their home-cooked meals with love and security and health, transforming ingredients and bringing disparate people together as family and friends. There's a reason that when opening one's home to guests, the first thing you do is offer food and drink. Cooking is a kind of everyday magic.

I noticed him right away. No, it wasn’t his lean, rugged face. Or the dark waves of shiny hair that hung just a little too long on his forehead. It wasn’t the slim, collarless biker jacket he wore, hugging his lean shoulders. It was the way he stood. The confident way he waited in the cafeteria line to get a slice of pizza. He didn’t saunter. He didn’t amble. He stood at the center, and let the other people buzz around him. His stance was straight and sure.

In my experience,” the lantern began, his voice soft, “places like the oceans or the heavens, an undiscovered forest, a great underground chasm, or the mystery of a woman’s heart and mind are not the end of a journey, but a beginning. Do not let fear of the unknown prevent you from discovery, vampire; otherwise the story of your life will be a dull tale indeed.

In the beginning there was only Darkness.

Inside Ms. Maddox's classroom, it was so quiet you could hear the breathing bounce off the walls.