The Book of Magic (Practical Magic, #2)

by Alice Hoffman

Some stories begin at the beginning and others begin at the end, but all the best stories begin in a library.

Franny understood this was how loss began. She had been here before, but then, like anyone else, she had forgotten this is what happened, that things ended when you least expected them to, that you could not protect those you loved from nature and fate.

Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality.

“If you can’t eat chocolate cake for breakfast, what is the point of being alive?” Franny said.

You can live a whole lifetime without knowing what was right in front of you. Seeing has little to do with opening your eyes; it’s what you feel inside that counts, it’s what you know without anyone telling you.

I didn’t know that what you sent into the world came back to you threefold, and that I would be the one to suffer. To begin a curse is done with ease, to break it takes a great sacrifice. Everything worthwhile is dangerous.

Life was like a book, Jet thought, but one you would never finish. You would never know how people would wind up; the good often suffered and the wicked prospered and there was no explanation for the way in which fate was meted out as there was in novels.

Life all happened so quickly; people tell you it will, but you won’t believe it until it happens to you. Cry all you want, being young will slip through your hands and you will be left standing there, you who were once so young, not recognizing yourself or your life.

while his sisters were still alarmed by their heritage. Now Franny understood that you must be yourself no matter what; anything else was a lie, and a denial of who you were would always cause grief. What you put out into the world came back to you threefold. If you could not accept yourself, you would be reviled and cast out, adrift in the world.

Of course she was alone. She was the one left behind to take care of things, the responsible one who did what she must without anyone’s help.

“If a woman doesn’t write her own history, there are very few who will.”

Love was a sacrifice. It was all things and everything. It was the way they had lived their lives.

What was done had been undone. Her beloved Franny who never showed her heart, unless you looked carefully, unless you understood what she was willing to do for you.

You didn’t have to be cursed in love to know that when you loved someone you were open to great loss.

Red, after all, was the color of love.

How lucky they’d been to be raised by women who taught them what was most important in this world. Read as many books as you can. Choose courage over caution. Take time to visit libraries. Look for light in the darkness. Have faith in yourself. Know that love is what matters most.