The Magician of Tiger Castle

by Louis Sachar

So here I sit, dressed like a typical American tourist, sipping a cappuccino at an outdoor table in an authentic medieval village. I can see the turrets of Tiger Castle in the distance, silhouetted against the red morning sky. I break off a piece of my almond croissant and place it inside the front pouch of my hoodie.

I’m drinking coffee now, but I used to be a tea drinker; some might even call me a tea snob, though I prefer the term connoisseur. After just one sip, I could have told you not only the variety of the tea but where it was grown, at what altitude, and possibly what wildflowers had been in the vicinity.

intuition is little more than paying attention to the world around you.

“a woman may forgive a man who made an unwanted advance, but not the man who missed his chance.”

In periods of plague, physicians wore hooded masks with large birdlike beaks while tending to their patients. They’d fill these beaks with sweet-smelling flowers, such as gardenias or jasmine. They believed the sweet smells would protect them from the evil spirits.

“You have no right,” he said. “Free will is all we have. It makes us who we are! Everything else—health, wealth, prestige—is beyond our control.” “Do you think I should do nothing, and let everyone be slaughtered?” I asked. “You’re not God,” he replied.