Magic Quotes - Page 24

If you never tell anyone the truth about yourself, eventually you start to forget.

You're the Baba Yaga?" He gazed at her in disbelief. "But the Baba Yaga is an ugly old crone, and you're, you're... not!

Life isn’t meant to be lived perfectly…but merely to be LIVED. Boldly, wildly, beautifully, uncertainly, imperfectly, magically LIVED.

Find magic in the little things, and the big things you always expected will start to show up.

That will teach me to meddle with magic meant for kings! Norrell is right. Some magic is not meant for ordinary magicians. Presumably John Uskglass knew what to do with this horrible knowledge. I do not.

In my dream, it was the tongue of what is, and anything spoken in it becomes real, because nothing said in that language can be a lie. It is the most basic building brick of everything.

They dabbled in dark magic like finger painters in first grade art class, and then most of them were either killed by their creations or ran the other way from the nightmares they unleashed.

Fantasyland was designed as a home for some of the classic characters [from those films], and as a symbol of the magic, hope and beauty of the human imagination.

When scorching passion only leaves ashes of unfulfilled dreams, hope may entice the sprinkling magic of our imagination into livening up the footlights on a new stage of life. ("Taken for a ride")

Love is when her smile act as a magic wand to vanish whole day fatigue...!!

When you're writing, you're creating something out of nothing ... A successful piece of writing is like doing a successful piece of m

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

Magic, madam, is like wine and, if you are not used to it, it will make you drunk.

We always underestimated our own participation in magic. That is, we thought of magic as something that existed with or without us. But that’s not true. Things are not magical because they’ve been conjured for us by some outside force. They are magical because we create them, and then deem them so. Ryan and Avery will say the first moment they spoke, the first moment they danced, was magical. But they were the ones—no one else, nothing else—who gave it the magic. We know. We were there. Ryan opened himself to it. Avery opened himself to it. And the act of opening was all they needed. That is the magic.

He took her hand from her head and held it in his. "Your beauty could make a rose blush."t"Are you... drunk?

You'll find magic everywhere, even in dark, dusty corners, if you stop searching with your limited human eyes and instead feel with your naked soul.

Hmm," she said. "'Curiouser and curiouser,' to quote Alice.

Somewhere along the way, during this hunt for Glendower, he'd forgotten to notice how much magic there was in the world. How much magic that wasn't just buried in a tomb. He was feeling it now.

Don't let the muggles get you down.

Forget not the Sacred Sands...The grains that pass through Time’s ancient hands!

Rosy ferried the drinks back to the table, slid the Guinness his way. “You said you have a show. Is it a comedy?”“No, but you will laugh, I hope, after hearing my qualifications.” His eyes glittered. “I do magic, with a twist. The twist is, my clothes are the first thing to disappear.”Rosy gaped.“Yes. I do magic… naked. I not only have a big ego.” Marek wiggled his middle finger. “I have a big wand.

If one squinted in Cabeswater long enough, in the right way, one could see secrets dart between the trees. The shadows of horned animals that never appeared. The winking lights of another summer's fireflies. The rushing sound of many wings, the sound of a massive flock always out of sight. Magic.

I am only a dead Sciomancer, but I must warn you of fire and kisses.

Something soft turn to stone within her. She had no choice. She had to fight. She had to win. She would learn. And then she'd free them.Or join them.

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.

... so this is for us.This is for us who sing, write, dance, act, study, run and loveand this is for doing it even if no one will ever knowbecause the beauty is in the act of doing it.Not what it can lead to.This is for the times I lose myself while writing, singing, playingand no one is around and they will never knowbut I will forever rememberand that shines brighter than any praise or fame or glory I will ever have,and this is for you who write or play or read or singby yourself with the light off and door closedwhen the world is asleep and the stars are alignedand maybe no one will ever hear itor read your wordsor know your thoughtsbut it doesn’t make it less glorious.It makes it ethereal. Mysterious.Infinite.For it belongs to you and whatever God or spirit you believe inand only you can decide how much it meantand meansand will forever meanand other people will experience it toothrough you.Through your spirit. Through the way you talk.Through the way you walk and love and laugh and careand I never meant to write this longbut what I want to say is:Don’t try to present your art by making other people read or hear or see or touch it; make them feel it. Wear your art like your heart on your sleeve and keep it alive by making people feel a little better. Feel a little lighter. Create art in order for yourself to become yourselfand let your very existence be your song, your poem, your story.Let your very identity be your book.Let the way people say your name sound like the sweetest melody.So go create. Take photographs in the wood, run alone in the rain and sing your heart out high up on a mountainwhere no one will ever hearand your very existence will be the most hypnotising scar.Make your life be your artand you will never be forgotten.

We must be careful what we imagine, fear, or hope for. The echoes of our thought live on in eternity.

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

Dare to dream! If you did not have the capability to make your wildest wishes come true, your mind would not have the capacity to conjure such ideas in the first place. There is no limitation on what you can potentially achieve, except for the limitation you choose to impose on your own imagination. What you believe to be possible will always come to pass - to the extent that you deem it possible. It really is as simple as that.

your gazeacrossmy cheeksturned theminto strawberry fields.

When fully united, without ego or weakness, we become the greatest invisible force this world has ever witnessed.

Very few are brave enough to look at the portals to higher dimensions of conscience that open before their eyes, either they’re confronting them from one perspective or another. These portals represent amazing opportunities for the ones with the courage to see them and cross them. But only a very powerful person possesses the power to open one for others. And if you think that person is what it seems, you will neglect the magician hiding behind the illusion.

It is easy to trip over a rock when you are watching everyone else's footsteps.

The 'magic' is the known and unknown quiet, spiritual, invisible thread which links and reveals harmonic elements to a universe of high vibrational sensory. And our beloved Bro. Maurice David knew it's undeniable creative power, from within.

Fantasy games are unbecoming to a lady, she says, closing the subject. "And the idea that you would even dream of spending time with some strange boy when you could be reinforcing your relationship with your Magnolia compatriots leaves me breathless. You are going to have to earn the respect of the other girls.

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

Magic was merely the unknown, a wild thing undefined by logic or reason.

You never see animals going through the absurd and often horrible fooleries of magic and religion. . . . Only man behaves with such gratuitous folly. It is the price he has to pay for being intelligent but not, as yet, quite intelligent enough.

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

Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lostmemories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreamsplay when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?

All Librarians are Secret Masters of Severe Magic. Goes with the territory.

Words and magic are two powerful forces that can change the world.

Any technology distinguishable from magic is insufficiently advanced.

We're all entitled to our different likes and dislikes. Imagine the world if we all liked the same things.

deprived of magic, wonder wanes

You know, I do believe in magic. I was born and raised in a magic time, in a magic town, among magicians. Oh, most everybody else didn’t realize we lived in that web of magic, connected by silver filaments of chance and circumstance. But I knew it all along. When I was twelve years old, the world was my magic lantern, and by its green spirit glow I saw the past, the present and into the future. You probably did too; you just don’t recall it. See, this is my opinion: we all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God’s sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they’d allowed to wither in themselves.After you go so far away from it, though, you can’t really get it back. You can have seconds of it. Just seconds of knowing and remembering. When people get weepy at movies, it’s because in that dark theater the golden pool of magic is touched, just briefly. Then they come out into the hard sun of logic and reason again and it dries up, and they’re left feeling a little heartsad and not knowing why. When a song stirs a memory, when motes of dust turning in a shaft of light takes your attention from the world, when you listen to a train passing on a track at night in the distance and wonder where it might be going, you step beyond who you are and where you are. For the briefest of instants, you have stepped into the magic realm.That’s what I believe.The truth of life is that every year we get farther away from the essence that is born within us. We get shouldered with burdens, some of them good, some of them not so good. Things happen to us. Loved ones die. People get in wrecks and get crippled. People lose their way, for one reason or another. It’s not hard to do, in this world of crazy mazes. Life itself does its best to take that memory of magic away from us. You don’t know it’s happening until one day you feel you’ve lost something but you’re not sure what it is. It’s like smiling at a pretty girl and she calls you “sir.” It just happens.These memories of who I was and where I lived are important to me. They make up a large part of who I’m going to be when my journey winds down. I need the memory of magic if I am ever going to conjure magic again. I need to know and remember, and I want to tell you.

Be kind and generous to your fellows, but hard and relentless with yourself.

The blue foam spread quickly, and had almost entirely enveloped the room, moving rapidly towards the last clear door, when suddenly the door burst open, and Simon, looking flushed, and panting heavily, stepped into the room.“Nooooooo!” shrieked Maven Ellie; a shocking sound out of the usually calm and cheerful magician. But it was too late.The foam, already covering most of the room, seemed to stiffen for a moment, before a molten red glow began to take over. The foam hissed, as though in anger, and at an alarmingly fast rate, it raced towards Simon, who had frozen obligingly, the moment Maven Ellie had screamed.A look of terror crept over his face at the sight of the crimson foam racing towards him. Desperately, he tried to move away, but the foam had already reached his feet, and he was stuck fast. Maven Thom, in a rather stunning display of athleticism for a man of his age, made a running leap for the small space that remained between Simon and the door, just barely clearing the approaching foam. The foam continued to climb up Simon’s legs and chest, covering his neck and face in seconds, until he was completely encased in the hardened foam.

I didn't want to believe that killing was deep inside of me. I didn't want to think about the part of me that took a dark joy in gathering all the power it could and using it as I saw fit, everything else be damned. There was power to be had in hatred, too, in anger and in lust, in selfishness and in pride. And I knew that there was some dark corner of me that would enjoy using magic for killing—and then long for more. That was black magic, and it was easy to use. Easy and fun. Like Legos.

Like the Pied Piper, the street entertainer carries his own mystique which cannot easily be transferred to the stage. He seems to have escaped reality, to perform in a time and space where he doesn't necessarily belong.

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

Are you there? I call for you.I've been calling your name, Searching every place in my mind to find you,I've lost count of the days, the hours, minutes, and seconds.The world that looked so vast is now small and empty.Did you take all the magic with you?Or perhaps the world is in pain like my heart because it's lost your spark.

Anything for Byron’s least favorite apprentice. It’s the least I can do since you took over my torch.

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.

Don’t let me get sappy on you, but when you get right down to it, every collection of letters is a magic spell, even if it’s a moronic proclamation by the Emperor. Words have their impact, girl. Mind your manners. I may not know how to fly but I know how to read, and that’s almost the same thing.

Our wishes become real and solid if we work on their formation. If it matters to you, make energy become matter.

You're a hopeless romantic," said Faber. "It would be funny if it were not serious. It's not books you need, it's some of the things that once were in books. The same things could be in the 'parlor families' today. The same infinite detail and awareness could be projected through the radios, and televisors, but are not. No,no it's not books at all you're looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself. Books were only one type or receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us. Of course you couldn't know this, of course you still can't understand what I mean when i say all this. You are intuitively right, that's what counts.

Sometimes we forget to see the magic in the most simple things.

I have a little theory that I'd like to air here, if I may. What is it that you think makes you magicians?" More silence. Fogg was well into rhetorical-question territory now anyway. He spoke more softly. "Is it because you are intelligent? Is it because you are brave and good? Is is because you're special? Maybe. Who knows. But I'll tell you something: I think you're magicians because you're unhappy. A magician is strong because he feels pain. He feels the difference between what the world is and what he would make of it. Or what did you think that stuff in your chest was? A magician is strong because he hurts more than others. His wound is his strength. Most people carry that pain around inside them their whole lives, until they kill the pain by other means, or until it kills them. But you, my friends, you found another way: a way to use the pain. To burn it as fuel, for light and warmth. You have learned to break the world that has tried to break you.

Because now, the magic is everywhere.