Best 3503 quotes in «magic quotes» category

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...

But are they heroes or mere dreamers?

But even airplanes heading toward Belgium can work magic, if you have luck and love and Christmas on your side.

But can’t you just wave your hand and make all the dirt fly away, then?" [...] "That works, but only if you wave them about on the floor with a scrubbing brush.

But if all my paintings were imitations of the images in my brain, then the images in my brain had always been only echoes of this. We were in Feyland at last. - Breena Malloy from Bitter Frost by Kailin Gow.

But if you are going to take up a profession – and I cannot see why you should want one at all, now that you have come into your property – surely you can chuse something better than magic! It has no practical application.

... but in the winter they were ensconced in a white powder of sparkling snow.

But it so happens that everything on this planet is, ultimately, irrational; there is not, and cannot be, any reason for the causal connexion of things, if only because our use of the word "reason" already implies the idea of causal connexion. But, even if we avoid this fundamental difficulty, Hume said that causal connexion was not merely unprovable, but unthinkable; and, in shallower waters still, one cannot assign a true reason why water should flow down hill, or sugar taste sweet in the mouth. Attempts to explain these simple matters always progress into a learned lucidity, and on further analysis retire to a remote stronghold where every thing is irrational and unthinkable. If you cut off a man's head, he dies. Why? Because it kills him. That is really the whole answer. Learned excursions into anatomy and physiology only beg the question; it does not explain why the heart is necessary to life to say that it is a vital organ. Yet that is exactly what is done, the trick that is played on every inquiring mind. Why cannot I see in the dark? Because light is necessary to sight. No confusion of that issue by talk of rods and cones, and optical centres, and foci, and lenses, and vibrations is very different to Edwin Arthwait's treatment of the long-suffering English language. Knowledge is really confined to experience. The laws of Nature are, as Kant said, the laws of our minds, and, as Huxley said, the generalization of observed facts. It is, therefore, no argument against ceremonial magic to say that it is "absurd" to try to raise a thunderstorm by beating a drum; it is not even fair to say that you have tried the experiment, found it would not work, and so perceived it to be "impossible." You might as well claim that, as you had taken paint and canvas, and not produced a Rembrandt, it was evident that the pictures attributed to his painting were really produced in quite a different way. You do not see why the skull of a parricide should help you to raise a dead man, as you do not see why the mercury in a thermometer should rise and fall, though you elaborately pretend that you do; and you could not raise a dead man by the aid of the skull of a parricide, just as you could not play the violin like Kreisler; though in the latter case you might modestly add that you thought you could learn. This is not the special pleading of a professed magician; it boils down to the advice not to judge subjects of which you are perfectly ignorant, and is to be found, stated in clearer and lovelier language, in the Essays of Thomas Henry Huxley.

But magic was not always so linear. It was born from odium. From love. From revenge.

But magic must hurry on, and the lovers remain...

But remember. Just because you don't believe in something doesn't mean it isn't real.

But she wouldn't pray, she took what comfort and credit she could for not praying; it wasn't that one disbelieved in prayer; one never lost all one's belief in magic. It was that she preferred to plan, it was fairer, it wasn't loading the dice.

But that is impossible," said Peter. "Magic is always impossible," said the magician. "It begins with the impossible and ends with the impossible and is impossible in between. That is why it is magic.

But that was what research and development were like. Full of semi-triumphs and perplexing unforeseen consequences like the whole violent hiccuping thing when conjuring up fire - or the propensity for fillings to fall out of bystanders' teeth when attempting to tease a rainstorm out of a cloud.

But the other Ministers considered that to employ a magician was one thing, novelists were quite another and they would not stoop to it.

But there's magic too. You'll pick that up. It don't take much intelligence, otherwise wizards wouldn't be able to do it.

But this didn't feel like magic. It felt a lot older than that. It felt like music.

But what if Alex changes it all around?...Where does that leave you?...But really...what if she's right?

But what would happen if I put on the ring?” the boy asked. “There is only one way to find out.

But do not take this responsibility lightly, my boy. The Gauntlet casts an ominous shadow.

But Gemma, you could change the world." "That should take far more than my power," I say. "True. But change needn't happen all at once. It can be small gestures." "Moments. Do you understand?" He's looking at me differently now, though I cannot say how. I only know I need to look away... We pass by the pools, where the mud larks sift. And for only a few seconds, I let the magic loose again. "Oi! By all the saints!" a boy cries from the river. "Gone off the dock?" an old woman calls. The mud larks break into cackles. "'S not a rock!" he shouts. He races out of the fog, cradling something in his palm. Curiosity gets the better of the others. They crowd about trying to see. In his palm is a smattering of rubies. "We're rich mates! It's a hot bath and a full belly for every one of us!" Kartik eyes me suspiciously. "That was a strange stroke of good fortune." "Yes it was." "I don't suppose that was your doing." "I'm not sure I don't know what you mean," I say. And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.

But Malone was thinking now and as he watched the men lighting cigarettes for each other in the dark, having sex beneath the trees, he turned to his friend and said in a wondering voice: “Isn’t it strange that when we fall in love, this great dream we have, this extraordinary disease, the only thing in which either one of us is interested, it’s inevitably with some perfectly ordinary drip who for some reason we cannot define is the magic bearer, the magician, the one who brings all this to us. Why?

But our forest is sacred & magical with many unusual creatures & plants.We don’t want people to destroy everything!

By some tear in the wish fabric, or the casting of a prayer, or the falling of some lonely star, the enchanted garden was not lost to me, but lost in me.

By the power of three times three!” exclaimed Gillian. “You could qualify as your own continent, man!

Call me crazy, but there is something terribly wrong with this city.

Can a magician kill a man by magic?” Lord Wellington asked Strange. Strange frowned. He seemed to dislike the question. “I suppose a magician might,” he admitted, “but a gentleman never could.

Can you sacrifice people?' I asked. 'Take their magic that way?' 'Yes,' he said. 'But there's a catch.' 'What's the catch?' 'You get hunted down even unto the ends of the Earth and summarily executed.

Captain Harcourt-Bruce was not only dashing, handsome, and brave, he was also rather romantic. The reappearance of magic in England thrilled him immensely. He was a great reader of the more exciting sort of history - and his head was full of ancient battles in which the English were outnumbered by the French and doomed to die, when all at once would be heard the sound of strange, unearthly music, and upon a hilltop would appear the Raven King in his tall, black helmet with it's mantling of raven-feathers streaming in the wind; he would gallop down the hillside on his tall, black horse with a hundred human knights and a hundred fairy knights at his back, and he would defeat the French by magic. That was Captain Harcourt-Bruce's idea of a magician. That was the sort of thing which he now expected to see reproduced on every battlefield on the Continent. So when he saw Mr Norrell in his drawing-room in Hanoversquare, and after he had sat and watched Mr Norrell peevishly complain to his footman, first that the cream in his tea was too creamy, and next that it was too watery - well, I shall not surprize you when I say he was somewhat disappointed. In fact he was so downcast by the whole undertaking that Admiral Paycocke, a bluff old gentleman, felt rather sorry for him and only had the heart to laugh at him and tease him very moderately about it.

Careful, mother, or you could end up dangling in another's webs.

Certain voices heard are heard not because they are phonetic... But, from one soul they head, to another, in the form of magic. (Poem: When, When a not, Book: Ginger and Honey)

C'è un alone di stregoneria in tutta la cucina; la scelta degli ingredienti, il modo in cui vengono mescolati, grattugiati, sciolti, le infusioni e come si insaporiscono, le ricette prese da vecchi libri, gli utensili tradizionali

Change & transformation. That kind of magic.

Challenges not only help form a person, but allow them to experience deeper levels of themselves. Nicole lived through being abandoned by her parents only to recently come to terms with the fact that she does not want them or need them anymore, Bran lost his father to a war and suffered an injury that would have left many bitter, but for his mother's sake has done his best to remain brave and positive through it all….. Aiden, Nicole and Bran have all already faced challenges that have helped them learn who they really are and what really matters to them. They know their personal truths and that gives them the strength they need to find their connection." –Morgana le Fey/ Morgana Cornwall

Change is inevitable. And in a way, change is a sort of magic. However, not everyone believes in something as frugal as the unexplained.

Chapter 8 - The Rescue Team: "Timbroke Hall was completely dark. A creaking shutter opened and closed to the rhythm of a howling, north wind. It bore a cold reminder of the harsh winter coming quickly this year. The children crept up the rock stairs to the familiar wooden doors at the front of the building. Ariana led them around the porch to a side door according to her, was never locked. The broken handle dangled loosely and offered free entrance. The team cautiously crossed the threshold of the old hall into pitch blackness. An owl hooted and the sound of large wings flapping reverberated around them. Camilla startled, cried out a fearful yelp causing everyone to jump. Hannah reflexively covered Camilla’s mouth until she was certain nothing more would slip out. “Quiet,” whispered Jess in an angry tone directed at Hannah. “It wasn’t me,” whispered Hannah pointing down at Camilla. “Sorry,” whispered Camilla apologetically.

Charlotte." Kate attempted to distract the child from her endless questions and held up the glass tube. "This is wulfsyl. I can't be sure it's correct." The girl looked at Kate with excitement, then asked hopefully, "Will it stop me from eating someone?" Kate looked uncomfortable. "We believe that if you take it now, you will n ever have to eat someone." "But what if I do?" "Eat Malcolm," Simon suggested.

Charles realized that if he were going to apologize to Chrestomanci, he had better do it at once. He turned around to say it. But the folds had already rippled flat and nothing was the same anymore....

Chickens can move and flop for hours after their heads are cut off. They have no heartbeat either," Naja said, "and that doesn't involve magic.

Childermass knew what games the children on street-corners are playing - games that all other grown-ups have long since forgotten. Childermass knew what old people by firesides are thinking of, though no one has asked them in years. Childermass knew what young men hear in the rattling of the drums and the tooting of the pipes that makes them leave their homes and go to be soldiers - and he knew the half-eggcupful of glory and the barrelful of misery that await them. And all that Childermass knew made him smile; and some of what he knew made him laugh out loud; and none of what he knew wrung from him so much as ha'pennyworth of pity.

Childhood is this time of magic and monsters; hoping for one and fearing the other... The worst part of being a kid is discovering which one exists... So, I chose to believe in magic.

Childhood does not last forever,' said Juniper. 'Although I believe the childish soul can endure for an eternity.

Child, all books are magic. Just think,' he said, 'about what books make people do. People go to war on the basis of what they read in books. They believe in "facts" just because they are written down. They decide to adopt political systems, to travel to one place rather than another, to give up their job and go on a great adventure, to love or to hate. All books have tremendous power. And power is magic.' 'But are these books really magic...?

Children!' Santa said with a smile. 'Children?' William said. 'Children aren't magic. I'm a child and I'm not magic at all!' All the elves giggled and Santa smiled knowingly. 'Oh, but you are! You really, truly are. You just don't know it! You can create impossible worlds in your imagination that don't really exist. That is magic. Because you can only see the best in people, the best in the world, in life. That is magic. Because you understand the importance of silliness, the importance of fun, of laughing and playing, which grown-ups have forgotten. That is magic. But, most of all, because you believe, without question, in the impossible. Without needing proof. Without hesitation. That is magic.' William couldn't believe what he was hearing. He could do all those things and he hadn't even realized that they were magic!

Children love both magic and science for the same reason both are enablers. Both offer power and solutions to impossible problems. But then something shifts when people discover the instability magic brings to existence. It shatters the world that’s been built on predictability and logic. Suddenly the material, the countable, the definable is pulled from underfoot by the capricious, slippery and ego-centric nature of the mind. In that respect it’s the opposite of science, which remains dispassionate and impartial to the observer, predictable no matter what. The laws of motion won’t change because the scientist gets a speeding fine.

Cleery said, "We'll pass it on, Knobs. There'll still be magic in the world.

Close’ only counts in horseshoe games and fireball spells

Coding is other type of magic!

Color is a kind of magic. He hopes people who have it understand that, and don't take it for granted.