Best 3503 quotes in «magic quotes» category

It seemed hardly feasible that anyone could tune an oil barrel, and even less credible that the barrel could make music like nothing else in the world. She thought those sounds were magic.

It seemed that it was not only live magicians which Mr. Norrell despised. He had taken the measure of all the dead ones too and found them wanting.

It's entirely conceivable that life's splendor surrounds us all, and always in its complete fullness, accessible but veiled, beneath the surface, invisible, far away. But there it lies—not hostile, not reluctant, not deaf. If we call it by the right word, by the right name, then it comes. This is the essence of magic, which doesn't create but calls.

It's filled with magic that's how I know if something's real.

It's hard to get motivated fixing a compile-time syntax error when you can buy a powder that turns a house into a monster.

It's just like any relationship," Raelin told him with a grin, while Aldri practiced over and over again. "You need to coax her, persuade her, impress her, not knock her over the head with a mallet. Sometimes, for complicated things, you even need to grovel a little—but I'll teach you that later, some of the syllables in Faerilíca can take weeks to learn correctly. For now, keep trying to catch her eye in silence." "But magic is only converted energy and emotion," Aldri reminded him. "I already possess it, I only need to use it." "And just how do you want to take ten minutes' running energy or your liking for the color blue, and throw it out in front of you as an arrow-stopping shield, hm?

It’s like you are oozing magic.” Tari rolled her eyes. “Yes I am an all-powerful witch,” she said sarcastically. “No. Not a witch, but something. I can’t explain it. It’s as if magic is your friend,” Ivy continued.

its odd to be a writer, you hear someone's experience and you stash it away in some tiny part of your memory and you go on your way again, only to find; in a few lived through chapters of your story a piece of their puzzle became your pathway to hope and you create words from it, like your mind creates some kind of magic. 'Yeah, it's odd being a writer.

it's often been said, she's easy on the eye but the moment she shows you a slice of her personality, you'll feel for the first time, something of magic is walking on this earth.

It's rude to stare," said the troll. Its mouth opened with a little crest of foam, and shut again in exactly the same way that water closes over a stone. "Is it? Why?" asked Rincewind. How does he hold himself together, his mind screamed at him. Why doesn't he spill?

It’s so … normal.” “I don’t eat small children.” “Shocking.

It’s the tale of one ominous Dextra Hyde, who spent her childhood in the cold confines of the Happy Forest Orphanage just outside of Sceaux.

It's the shape of the stories that matters, the way belief forms around it. The story has real weight', He pointed at himself. 'Patupaiarehe look like monsters in some stories, but they're beautiful in a lot. I guess people believed more in the beautiful version. And the ideal of beauty changes. If I'd been born two hundred years ago, I bet I wouldn't look like this. The stories shaped me. They shape everyone, inside and out, but me more than most, because I'm magic.

It's time to have and enjoy magical moments in life, reposition yourself so magic happens.

It's tough for magic to argue with physics, most of the time.

…it struck Mr. Jelliby that a wide-eyed faery was not a surprised faery. It was an angry, angry faery.

It's true; life really is generous to those who pursue their Personal Legend.

It's witchcraft with all the crusts cut off, and real witchcraft is ALL crusts.

It takes two, and each couple’s bonding experience is different, just like falling in love is different for each couple. What it comes down to acceptance of whatever that common ground you share is that makes your bonding one that will last

It takes the light in our hearts to see magic that is invisible to most people.

It took place in the midnight in the University's Great Hall, in a welter of incense, candlesticks, runic inscriptions and magic circles, none of which was strictly necessary but which made the wizards feel better.

It turns out that knitting isn't about the yarn or the softness or needing a hat (although we really can't argue with these secondary motivators). It's really about this: Knitting is a magic trick. In this day and age, in a world where science and technology take more and more wonder and work out of our lives , and our planet is quickly becoming a place running out of magic, a knitter takes silly, useless string, mundane sticks, waves her hands around (many, many times...nobody said this was fast magic), and turns one thing into another: string into a hat, string into a sweater, string into a blanket for a baby. It really is a very reliable magic.

It was all she has ever wanted. To be a Red Damsel, a slayer-in-waiting, was the dream of every girl born into the Priory.

It was as if a door had opened somewhere. Or possibly a series of doors. There was a sensation as of a breeze blowing into the house and bringing with it the half-remembered scents of childhood. There was a shift in the light which seemed to cause all the shadows in the room to fall differently. There was nothing more definite than that, and yet, as often happens when some magic is occurring, both Drawlight and the lady had the strongest impression that nothing in the visible world could be relied upon any more. It was as if one might put out one's hand to touch any thing in the room and discover it was no longer there.

It was all magic, that was given to me, somehow.

It was magic, the oldest magic of all when day became night, gods working in tandem, and I gave it the full benefit of my witness for the singular wonder it was.

It was late now; so late that it could once again be called early—that surreal, enchanted, twilight hour between the end of a party and the unfurling of a new day. The hour when reality grows dim and hazy at the edges, when nearly anything seems possible.

It was like someone far away calling someone else’s name.

It was so easy to sell anything to the common people, if one could add an element of magic and some religion into it

It wasn’t that she believed in voodoo, precisely—but she believed in the people who believed in voodoo—and that was scary enough. -Coralee Ayers

It was the colors that had initially attracted her, the vibrant blue of the Bunsen flame and the dusty red of copper and the deep violet of permanganate. It was the logic of balanced equations, the certainty that when element A mixed with element B, compound C would appear. It was like predicting the future; it was like magic. Most of all, it was being: of having to be so careful with the hydrochloric acid, of accidentally burning herself while lighting a match, of discovering.

It was ironic really that she was willingly, like a lamb to slaughter, going to her Commencement, readily taking the Crown that would prove to be her curse.

It was Jaenelle's voice, but... She was medium height, slender, and fair-skinned. Her gold mane--not quite hair and not quite fur--was brushed up and back from her exotic face and didn't hide the delicately pointed ears. In the center of her forehead was a tiny, spiral horn. A narrow strip of gold fur traced her spine, ending in a small gold and white fawn tail that flicked over her bare buttocks. The legs were human and shapely, but changed below the calf. Instead of feet, she had dainty horse's hooves. Her human hands had sheathed claws like a cat's. As she shifted position to slip another shard into place, he saw the small, round breasts, the feminine curve of waist and hips, the dark-gold triangle of hair between her legs. Who...? But he knew. Even before she walked over and looked at him, even before he saw the feral intelligence in those ancient, haunted sapphire eyes, he knew. Terrifying and beautiful. Human and Other. Gentle and violent. Innocent and wise. *I am Witch,* she said, a small, defiant quiver in her voice. *I know.* His voice had a seductive throb in it, a hunger he couldn't control or mask.

It was like magic, but so much of magic is about misdirection, whereas so much of redemption is straightforward and ordinary, piercing true and lit with surprise.

It was hers... her Kitsune... her magic. The magic of all the Kumaris past, present and future.

It was important not to offend against the laws of magic. If a woman left you it was because you did not cast the right spell over her, or else because someone else cast a stronger enchantment than yours, or else because your marriage was cursed in such a way that it cut the ties of love between husband and wife. Why did So-and-so enjoy success in his businesses? Because he visited the right enchanter. There was a thing in the emperor that rebelled against all this flummery, for was it not a kind of infantilization of the self to give up one's power of agency and believe that such power resided outside oneself rather than within? This was also his objection to God, that his existence deprived human beings of the right to form ethical structures by themselves.

It won’t be the same. Just because we have the choice of having anything we want without having to lift a finger, we don’t have to take the shortcut. As you’ve seen, we enjoy doing most of the things by ourselves. Food cooked or a house built by hand is more precious.

It would be great not to have to deal with any of this. When I found out, I wished Killian could have wiped my memories so I wouldn't have to know that all this shit exists. I was like, "Vampires can get rid of memories. What are you good for?" But it is what it is.

It was then that the seven-year-old said, “I am ready. What wonderful place will we visit tonight?” “I can take you wherever your dreams desire,” the calico pony replied on their first night together.

I understand now that magic is not for wickedness, not for the devil, not for those with cruel hearts. It's for hope. For survival. It thrives in the darkness not because it is dark in nature but because the fire shines brightest then.

I use the word mystery,rather than magic. I love magic. something magic was always going to happen. When it did, it never did anything but land me in trouble. MYSTERY is the depth of the sacred. Page 33 coming home to my self

I've always liked Anna, but according to my mother, her family is complete New Money, and my grandmother has pointed out on several occasions that they're not even really Southern.

I’ve been torn with what’s right and what’s wrong,” he said. “Maybe I’m not the best one to judge. All I know is that I’ve wanted to do this for a while, and nothing has ever felt more right.” He closed the distance between them, brushing his lips against hers.

I've been living in the shadow of empty people for far too long. Now I need to find chests full of wild lilies, minds full of wonder, hearts full of light.

I’ve been lucky enough to cross paths with these angels who seem to brush the dust off my wings so effortlessly. These wonderful people I don’t and will never know. I want to be one of them. I want to be many of them. Radiating, resonating, finding lost souls and then exhaling magic.

...I've been told that this building is here waiting for me. It's been my Buckingham Palace, my White House, my Taj Mahal, so coming here today as a real member is - well, it's a big deal.

I've come to realise that the real magic is when you live a life in which others, not just yourself, truly benefit for you living it.

I've learned that the flesh that clothes us means very little." Prince Ashton

I've really learned to appreciate the magic of challenging yourself. Seeing yourself somewhere new. There's a whole world out there.

I wanted to pull out his toenails and poke them in his eyeballs.