The Magicians (The Magicians, #1)

by Lev Grossman

As much as it was like anything, magic was like a language. And like a language, textbooks and teachers treated it as an orderly system for the purposes of teaching it, but in reality it was complex and chaotic and organic. It obeyed rules only to the extent that it felt like it, and there were almost as many special cases and one-time variations as there were rules.

Here, when the wind wasn’t sighing moodily in the trees, there was nothing. The whole world was on mute.

Funny how life had its little ways of surprising you. Little quirks of fate.

Terror and physical pain sharpened and simplified Quentin’s moral universe.

In a way fighting like this was just like using magic. You said the words, and they altered the universe. By merely speaking you could create damage and pain, cause tears to fall, drive people away, make yourself feel better, make your life worse.

The power to create order is one thing. The power to destroy is another. Always they are in balance. But it is easier to destroy than to create, and there are those whose nature it is to love destruction.”