Best 3503 quotes in «magic quotes» category

Meredith Blitzmeyer Magical Scientist* *Not a witch

Mikolay took his wand out, touched the cage’s lock and said: “Eis Izras” three times. The door opened at once, unfortunately making lots of noise and waking the humans up. Mikolay knew a few powerful hexes and he was able to create small flying dragons. He hoped that he could stop the people, animals, and block the shadows to buy some time.

Mess with a magical chic and you get some major clean-up when she is pissed!!!

Mikolay and Julia live in the same neighborhood and go to the same school every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Mere words cannot defeat a true hero. Unless they happen to be the words to some sort of Instant Death Spell. Magic is scary.

Men. Young men. Legal age, mind you. But young nonetheless. And it’s not what you think. When we meet, we make … magic.

Mikolay had explored the big attic many times before, and he knew that his mummy misplaced boxes all the time. Ah, I,don’t really want a wand, um, that much. Can we go home now? “Please? begged Julia as she walked toward the door. But Mikolay grabbed her hand and whispered:Lets just see where the shadow is going and after that, we can go right home. Mikolay and Julia carefully moved closer and closer to the wall.

Miracles have a higher percentage of being permanent than magical solutions.

Miracles only happen when y' have done all you can, not before. Ye can ask for them, but ye might not get. But sometimes ye do. Sometimes they come without askin'. Oftentimes they can be explained by natural happenings, which perhaps they are, though timed just right. Above all, they are rare. Now mark me! There's one name for the man who claims to do miracles regularly, and that name is liar. Run from such a man.

Mind sees magic because it can be deceived when allowed by heart.

Mörkret fyller mig i några gnistor, den här gången på ett rogivande sätt. Som om det hälsar mig välkommen tillbaka.

Morgan gazed at the intricate and brilliantly colored images of dragons on her hands. They were nearly three-dimensional in appearance and perfect in every detail. Her left palm had a dark red infant, still curled in the confines of its shell, twitching and shimmying around as if ready to hatch. Her right hand had a cobalt blue adult centered in her palm with its tail trailing down her wrist. The adult dragon...bowed to her and gave its wings a little flourish. She twitched and smiled at the tickle it caused. [Morgan] used a finger to gently stroke the hatchling on her left hand. it reacted to her touch as if alive.

...Moonlight possesses no alchemy to transmute good motives to base, but it does excite love magic...

MOTHER TIME: Life goes by so very fast, my dears, and taking the time to reflect, even once a year, slows things down. We zoom past so many seconds, minutes, hours, killing them with the frantic way we live that it's important we take at least this one collective sigh and stop, take stock, and acknowledge our place in time before diving back into the melee. Midnight on New Year's Eve is a unique kind of magic where, just for a moment, the past and the future exist at once in the present. Whether we're aware of it or not, as we countdown together to it, we're sharing the burden of our history and committing to the promise of tomorrow.

Most magick I have experienced can be written off as a stew of psychology and coincidence, and I truly believe this is where magick is best worked.

Mr. Charles Dickens was serializing his novel Oliver Twist; Mr. Draper had just taken the first photograph of the moon, freezing her pale face on cold paper; Mr. Morse had recently announced a way of transmitting messages down metal wires. Had you mentioned magic or Faerie to any of them, they would have smiled at you disdainfully, except, perhaps for Mr. Dickens, at the time a young man, and beardless. He would have looked at you wistfully.

Mr. Rogan, I am magician, not God.

M.T. Stone was the poster boy for what an assassin should look like.

...much more than by its army, its administration, its institutions, and its police, society is held together with spells.

MURRY: I believe in a lot of things. Santa Claus, magic, vampires, and even ghosts but I don't believe in luck. Good or bad.

Music is a magic like no other, which can do incredible, unexplainable things.

Music can make you feel things that aren’t yours—sadness, or love, or joy. A good song has a magic to it. It pulls you in and the feelings in the music take over and you become the music, you become the song.

Must I accept the barren Gift? -learn death, and lose my Mastery? Then let them know whose blood and breath will take the Gift and set them free: whose is the voice and whose the mind to set at naught the well-sung Game- when finned Finality arrives and calls me by my secret Name. Not old enough to love as yet, but old enough to die, indeed- -the death-fear bites my throat and heart, fanged cousin to the Pale One's breed. But past the fear lies life for all- perhaps for me: and, past my dread, past loss of Mastery and life, the Sea shall yet give up Her dead! Lone Power, I accept your Gift! Freely I make death a part of me; By my accept it is bound into the lives of all the Sea- yet what I do now binds to it a gift I feel of equal worth: I take Death with me, out of Time, and make of it a path, a birth! Let the teeth come! As they tear me, they tear Your ancient hate for aye- -so rage, proud Power! Fail again, and see my blood teach Death to die!

Most tales carry a kernel of truth, else they're soon forgotten.

My dad loves marriage rites. Any sort of family magic, actually. He and my mother are bound together in five dimensions.’ ‘That’s lovely,’ Baz says, and I’m terrified because I think he means it.

My body was jerking and shaking, and I remembered John when he was in the Tunnels with Lena. The weird jerking and twitching he seemed unable to control. Was this what it felt like to be in the grip of Abraham Ravenwood?

My face flushed scarlet. I was a stranger in my own skin. I had ever felt this kind of anger in my life. Fort and confusion grew. Its sensation was an overwhelming concoction of hate. The only things I knew - the only things keeping me remotely calm- was the following litany. My name is Eleanora Ada Stone. I was moved from home to home for seventeen years. I am now living on this god-forsaken island in Maine. I was being kept from a world of secrets. I have abilities. I am not human. I do not know what I am.

My energies have been drained. Masturbating too much will do that.

My body felt heavy. It grew harder to thrash around, to move at all. I opened my mouth to scream again but no sound came from my blood-soaked lips. My eyelids fluttered closed and the world disappeared around me as I took the last few breath of my life.

Must lessons always be so hard? Must battles be so bloody? And must it always be our kind that keep the wheels in motion? The year, it turns, and it turns, and turns. Now it has come full circle. Winter and summer: life and death; the adder stone and the wedding-ring; all echo that endless coming of age. Who can stop the word turning?

My dad liked to say that magic itself is never black; only the uses to which it is put, but mind magic is already tinted a deep, dark gray.

My goofiest-sounding secret is that I also believe in magic. Sometimes I call it God and sometimes I call it light, and I believe in it because every now and then I read a really good book or hear a really good song or have a really good conversation with a friend and they seem to have some kind of shine to them. The list I keep of these moments in the back of my journal is comprised less of times when I was laughing or smiling and more of times when I felt like I could feel the colors in my eyes deepening from the display before me. Times in which I felt I was witnessing an all-encompassing representation of life driven by an understanding that, coincidence or not, our existence is a peculiar thing, and perhaps the greatest way to honor it is to just be human. To be happy AND sad, and everything else. And yeah, living is a pain, and I say I hate everyone and everything, and I don’t exude much enthusiasm when sandwiched between fluorescent lighting and vinyl flooring for seven hours straight, and I will probably mumble a bunch about how much I wish I could sleep forever the next time I have to wake up at 6 AM. But make no mistake about it: I really do like living. I really, truly do.

My father once told me love is magic, sir.

[M]y grandmother and I sit across from each other at the Gryphon Tea Room, on the grandest section of Bull Street.

[M]y grandmother...had always complained that our house didn't have a profile that was "significant enough.

My heart That is unaware of dreams Whispers your name From all the corners

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.

My heart might very well beat itself from my chest," she whispered, "and 'tis difficult to breathe." "How odd." Passion thickened his voice. "I seem to be suffering the same symptoms. Does anything else plague you?" "A terrible weakness," she whispered shakily. "If you let me go, I am not entirely certain I shall be able to stand." He buried his face in her neck. "Then I shall never let you go.

My membership has given me everything I've ever wanted.

My mother explained the magic with this washing machine the very, very first day. She said, 'Now Hans, we have loaded the laundry. The machine will make the work. And now we can go to the library.' Because this is the magic: you load the laundry, and what do you get out of the machine? You get books out of the machines, children's books.

My heart almost vaulted out of my chest. I was snuggled against Ryan’s shoulder. We were burrowed under the cloak and sleeping bag, and my hand rested on his cheek, about to swat the stray hair that had fallen over my face. This wouldn’t have been so bad, if not for one tiny detail. Ryan was awake.

My name is Zia Rashid.

My name is Koshka, and this Human person is Jazz. She is the protégé of the Baba Yaga Bella, and I am Bella’s Chudo-Yudo.” “Oh,” said the Dwarf, and doffed his hat, briefly revealing a shiny bald spot before putting it back on again. “Why didn’t you say so?” He scowled. “I thought you were door-to-door salesmen.” “Do you get a lot of that in the Otherworld?” Jazz asked, genuinely interested in the answer. Somehow she hadn’t imagined that would be a problem here. Smythe shook his head. “Not yet. But I’ve heard all about them, and I expect they’ll turn up any day.

My instinct is saying its not over, but your adamant it is, what do I trust?

My mother knew all the constellations,” Alec said. “That one is Taurus. She said our clan can trace itself to the guardians of Taurus. And since I was born in May, she called me a Taurus from a Taurus clan.

My world had gone from normal to magical in only a few days. Everything I’d once believed to be true had been turned upside down, and even though it was crazy and possibly dangerous, I loved every second of it.

Mystical insight and enlightenment occur when the veil between the worlds is lifted, the worlds are bridged, the gap closes, and we cross over.

My power is everywhere propping up illusions, but I'm taking it back by letting go of them & just riding the stallion into wonderland. Let's see what you've got to say about the darkness in the mountains, I wonder if you know you can just turn it all to light. As we ride through the valley can you see the same water flowing that I do, or do dust clouds conceal it and block up your nose & throat? You're so thirsty for the end of the journey but I don't want you to miss the magic on the road.

Never allow fear to keep you from creating your own miracle. There are unlimited options at your disposal for creating any magical experience safely if you access the wisdom of your heart and make the choice to walk in the light.

Never let the legend die