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Some years ago there was in the city of York a society of magicians. They met upon the third Wednesday of every month and read each other long, dull papers upon the history of English magic.

Susanna Clarke

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Susanna Clarke
Age: 65
Born: 1959
Born: November 16
Author
Editor
Language Teacher
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Susanna Mary Clarke
Mets
Magicians
Society
English
Wednesday
Upon
Magician
Read
York
Papers
History
City
Month
Every
Paper
Dull
Long
Magic
Third
Years
Months
Thirds
Cities

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It has been remarked (by a lady infinitely cleverer than the present author) how kindly disposed the world in general feels to young people who either die or marry.
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There is nothing in the world so easy to explain as failure - it is, after all, what everybody does all the time.
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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 would.
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You've got to sing like you don't need the money. You've got to love like you'll never get hurt. You've got to dance like there's nobody watching. You've got to come from the heart, if you want it to work.
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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.
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But, though French, she was also very brave.
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Unfortunately, Childermass's French was so strongly accented by his native Yorkshire that Minervois did not understand and asked Strange if Childermass was Dutch.
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It is these black clothes, said Strange. I am like a leftover piece of funeral, condemned to walk about the Town, frightening people into thinking of their own mortality.
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Sing like no one is listening. Love like you’ve never been hurt. Dance like nobody’s watching, and live like it’s heaven on earth.
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Houses, like people, are apt to become rather eccentric if left too much on their own this house was the architectural equivalent of an old gentleman in a worn dressing-gown and torn slippers, who got up and went to bed at odd times of day, and who kept up a continual conversation with friends no one else could see.
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I mean that two of any thing is a most uncomfortable number. One may do as he pleases. Six may get along well enough. But two must always struggle for mastery. Two must always watch each other. The eyes of all the world will be on two, uncertain which of them to follow.
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It is also true that his hair had a reddish tinge and, as everybody knows, no one with red hair can ever truly be said to be handsome.
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Well, I suppose one ought not to employ a magician and then complain that he does not behave like other people.
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To be more precise it was the color of heartache.
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He screamed. Mmm?' inquired the gentleman. I...I would never presume to interrupt you, sir. But the ground appears to be swallowing me up.' It is a bog,' said the gentleman, helpfully. It is certainly a most terrifying substance.
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And how shall I think of you?' He considered a moment and then laughed. 'Think of me with my nose in a book!
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Ha!' said the tall man drily. 'He was in high luck. Rich old uncles who die are in shockingly short supply.
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A piece of writing is like a piece of magic. You create something out of nothing.
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I have a scholar's love of silence and solitude. To sit and pass hour after hour in idle chatter with a roomful of strangers is to me the worst sort of torment.
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The land is all too shallow It is painted on the sky And trembles like the wind-shook rain When the Raven King passed by
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