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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: 64
Born: 1959
Born: November 16
Author
Editor
Language Teacher
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Susanna Mary Clarke
Society
Mets
Magicians
Upon
English
Wednesday
Read
York
Magician
History
City
Papers
Every
Paper
Month
Long
Magic
Dull
Years
Months
Third
Cities
Thirds

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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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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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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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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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To be more precise it was the color of heartache.
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And the name of the one shall be Fearfulness. And the name of the other shall be Arrogance... Well, clearly you are not Fearfulness, so I suppose you must be Arrogance.' This was not very polite.
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Lovers are rarely the most rational beings in creation.
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He hardly ever spoke of magic, and when he did it was like a history lesson and no one could bear to listen to him.
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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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He smiles but rarely and watches other men to see when they laugh and then does the same.
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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A piece of writing is like a piece of magic. You create something out of nothing.
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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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For, though the room was silent, the silence of half a hundred cats is a peculiar thing, like fifty individual silences all piled one on top of another.
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