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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
Read
York
Magician
History
City
Papers
Every
Paper
Month
Long
Magic
Dull
Years
Months
Third
Cities
Thirds
Society
Mets
Magicians
Upon
English
Wednesday

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He smiles but rarely and watches other men to see when they laugh and then does the same.
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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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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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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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But, though French, she was also very brave.
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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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I was told once by some country people that a magician should never tell his dreams because the telling will make them come true. But I say that is great nonsense.
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Lovers are rarely the most rational beings in creation.
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A piece of writing is like a piece of magic. You create something out of nothing.
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It would need someone very remarkable to recover your name, Stephen, someone of rare perspicacity, with extraordinary talents and incomparable nobility of character. Me, in fact.
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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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I know magicians and I know magic and I say this: all magicians lie and this one more than most.
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Oh! And they read English novels! David! Did you ever look into an English novel? Well, do not trouble yourself. It is nothing but a lot of nonsense about girls with fanciful names getting married.
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After two hours it stopped raining and in the same moment the spell broke, which Peroquet and the Admiral and Captain Jumeau knew by a curious twist of their senses, as if they had tasted a string quartet, or been, for a moment, deafened by the sight of colour blue.
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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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This is a very grave matter, punishable by...well, I do not exactly know what, but something rather severe, I should imagine.
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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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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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To be more precise it was the color of heartache.
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Bryon tilted his head to a very odd angle, half-closed his eyes and composed his features to suggest that he was about to expire from chronic indigestion.
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