Best 3503 quotes in «magic quotes» category

It is not any common earth, Water or wood or air, But Merlin’s Isle of Gramarye That you and I will fare.

It is not Love that is the crime and it is not Love that is the sin. It is the absence of it!” ARcher Tariq - "A Rising Darkness

It is not real," he whispered. "This place is only a thought that has grabbed hold of you. It cannot harm you. You are not of this place, and it has no power over you. You do not need it, nor do you owe it your allegiance." I nodded, listening only to his words and not to the rattling of the windows, which had begun as soon as we stepped inside.

It isn't really magic, except that it is. It's not magic that reaches into the world ands changes things. It's all inside my body. I thought, sitting there, that everything is magic. Using things connects them to you, being in the world connects you to the world, the sun streams down magic and people and animals and plants grow from sunlight and the world turns and everything is magic.

It is only rather recently that science has begun to make peace with its magical roots. Until a few decades ago, it was common for histories of science either to commence decorously with Copernicus's heliocentric theory or to laud the rationalism of Aristotelian antiquity and then to leap across the Middle Ages as an age of ignorance and superstition. One could, with care and diligence, find occasional things to praise in the works of Avicenna, William of Ockham, Albertus Magnus, and Roger Bacon, but these sparse gems had to be thoroughly dusted down and scraped clean of unsightly accretions before being inserted into the corners of a frame fashioned in a much later period.

It is possible to induce incorrect notions of cause and effect in most people in just a few minutes. All that is necessary is to expose them to rewards which they believe they are generating based on their actions when in fact the rewards are randomly awarded. People will latch onto any seeming success and repeat it, even when they have to explain repeated failures as well. It appears practically impossible, or at least very rare, for humans not to be influenced by immediate experiences of concrete results. This is true even if the experiences turn out to have limited theoretical validity. The moment of surprise is not when people repeat alchemical failures but when they begin to do something else.

It is safer to face a strong enemy in the field of battle, than to fight a war by the side of a weak friend.

It is the illusion of magic and the magic of illusion that we are primarily interested in- not the privy tricks or the key to the secrets themselves. We seek the bafflement, the contradictions, the amusements, and the innumerable emotions that ripple uneasily through the audience. It is not knowledge we are after, but mystery and disguises. We want to gaze at the impossible. We are hungry for surprises, astonishment. In short, we are looking for a true story, but one impossible to explain in all its complexity. When we discover that story, we shall have found- magic.

It might have all the same; you never can tell what's magic.

It may be laid down as a general rule that if a man begins to sing, no one will take any notice of his song except his fellow human beings. This is true even if his song is surpassingly beautiful. Other men may be in raptures at his skill, but the rest of creation is, by and large, unmoved. Perhaps a cat or a dog may look at him; his horse, if it is an exceptionally intelligent beast, may pause in cropping the grass, but that is the extent of it. But when the fairy sang, the whole world listened to him. Stephen felt clouds pause in their passing; he felt sleeping hills shift and murmur; he felt cold mists dance. He understood for the first time that the world is not dumb at all, but merely waiting for someone to speak to it in a language it understands. In the fairy's song the earth recognized the names by which it called itself.

It occurred to Keth for the first time that perhaps magic wasn't simply a matter of fires, lightning, and power in the air, if spoken words could also create such a transformation.

I told you not to trust a wolf,” he continued. His words dripped like honeyed venom. “Because it would only ever want to break you.” Darren let out a small, harsh laugh. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’m the wolf, Ryiah. I guess what I really should have told you was to never trust a prince, but that’s not quite as memorable.

I told you, either use it or don’t, but you can’t just dibble-dabble with the bibble-babble.” – Aunt Polly

I took a step back, shaking my head, wishing I could place a gnarly black hex on him. My daddy taught me better than that.

It's always a choice, to do right or wrong, no matter the power.

It’s amazing what desperation can do to a person. It can seep into the heart. Turn us into the very monsters we fight." -Vexis

It’s a profoundly strange feeling, to stumble across someone whose desires are shaped so closely to your own, like reaching toward your reflection in a mirror and finding warm flesh under your fingertips. If you should ever be lucky enough to find that magical, fearful symmetry, I hope you’re brave enough to grab it with both hands and not let go.

It's an interesting spell. You ask the light to go straight through a thing instead of bouncing off the sides. Took me a long time to get it right. I learned you gotta be real polite when you ask light to do anything.

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.

It's a weapon we have, and we need all the weapons we can get

It's a wonderful fantasy, but it's not real. It's just watermelon magic.

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?

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 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.

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

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

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

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

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 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 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 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 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 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.