magic

Your problem, Kendra, is that you can easily imagine using magic. What you have to do now is imagine the magic itself.

And at 3am you sit near the window and wonder if there is magic... because all you need are some fairies to take your pain away and help you sleep... you take a book to read... you take a pen and a paper to write...you cling on some music that might just make you fall asleep... yet nothing helps... another sleepless night and all you want is the dawn to break soon....

You can almost always find chains of coincidence to disprove magic. That's because it doesn't happen the way it does in books. It makes those chains of coincidence. That's what it is. It's like if you snapped your fingers and produced a rose but it was because someone on an aeroplane had dropped a rose at just the right time for it to land in your hand. There was a real person and a real aeroplane and a real rose, but that doesn't mean the reason you have the rose in your hand isn't because you did the magic.

The word of sin is Restriction. O man! refuse not thy wife, if she will! O lover, if thou wilt, depart! There is no bond that can unite the divided but love: all else is a curse. Accursed! Accursed be it to the aeons! Hell.

... waiting for the spell to end, as all spells must.

There's nothing sweet about me, love," he said.

And as if by magic - and it may have been magic, for I believe America is the land of magic, and that we, we now past Americans, were once the magical people of it, waiting now to stand to some unguessable generation of the future as the nameless pre-Mycenaean tribes did to the Greeks, ready, at a word, each of us now, to flit piping through groves ungrown, our women ready to haunt as laminoe the rose-red ruins of Chicago and Indianapolis when they are little more than earthen mounds, when the heads of the trees are higher than the hundred-and-twenty-fifth floor - it seemed to me that I found myself in bed again, the old house swaying in silence as though it were moored to the universe by only the thread of smoke from the stove.

Magic is always there. Sometimes it just takes an artist to find it and show the rest of us where to look.

I want to tell you a story, Alex." Alex nibbled on his bottom lip, waiting. Wondering now if Mr. Today really understood that Alex was turning him down."Simber." The old mage said.Alex automatically turned to the door, expecting to see the beast. Mr. Today shook his head. "No, he's not hear. Simber was my first creation. Before there was Artime, there was Simber.

Yeah, but what we need are some fighters who know how to take down a wolf. I know three.""If you are going to get the Pigs, you'll need backup. They're not to be trifled with.

If Scotsmen don't wear anything under their kilts and they ride a horse, do you think they chafe their manbits?

There is something divine, mystical, magical and unexplainable in the universe that is listening and responding to each of us.

The lucid dream, located as it is at a crossroads between worlds and states of consciousness, places the magician in a unique position to influence the delicate balance of consciousness and the interplay it has on matter in the waking state, and is thus an opportunity to test one__ ability in the art of adjusting the mutable fabric of Maya.

Together the magicks swirled and danced around us, invisible but tangible, like an breeze. This wasn't defensive or offensive magic. It wasn't used to gather information, for strategy or diplomacy, or to fight a war against supernatural enemy. It simply was. It was fundamental, inexorable. It was nothing and everything, infinity and oblivion, from the magnificent furnace of a star to the electrons that hummed in an atom. It was life and death and everything in between, the urge to fight and grow and swim and fly. It was a cascade of water across boulders, the slow-moving advance of mountain glaciers, the march of time.

Ophelia,' said the boy. He said it very quietly. She didn't like the way he said that at all. He sounded sad and as though he expected more from her.'And how do you know my name anyways?' she said. 'I never told you it, not once.''I heard it once, a long time ago.'He was full of mysterious sentences like that.

I can weave words together and create magic,it's like knitting and crocheting words with pen and paper, some call it Poetry.

Every spell is something special, fit for the moment when it's done." Edmund pushed his bowl across to Tom. "It's not just the words you say, but the way they make you feel, the meaning and the rhythm, the connection you make with them. It's not just the things you think, but how the place and time you're in can change them.

There is no such thing as magic. It is a word. A silly, foolish, overused word. There is only your aura...or the Chinese have a better word for it: qi. A life force. An energy. This is the energy that flows within you. It can be shaped, molded, directed.