Magic Realism Quotes

Quotes tagged as "magic-realism" Showing 1-30 of 45
Sarah Addison Allen
“To Fred, those years seemed to pass like quickly skimming a book and then finding the ending wasn't what he expected. He wished he'd paid more attention to the story.”
Sarah Addison Allen

James Cañón
“So what if those stupid roosters don't want to crow?
If we've learned to live without men, we can learn to live without cocks.”
James Cañón

“He wishes he were a skilled poet, it would fit his chosen image perfectly; the poor, tragic, tortured artiste. But he has no talent for words, neither for paints nor music; his uselessness is tremendously total.”
Curtis Ackie, Goldfish Tears

Suzy  Davies
“The sea is rushing in now as unconsciousness does.I can see a chord, hear gospel songs as we hoist the sails.The sails are a soft white bird. We are airborne. We are primitive.”
Suzy Davies, Johari's Window

Michael Ondaatje
“I have been seeing dragons again.
Last night, hunched on a beaver dam,
one held a body like a badly held cocktail;
his tail, keeping the beat of a waltz,
sent a morse of ripples to my canoe.

They are not richly bright
but muted like dawns
or the vague sheen on a fly's wing.
Their old flesh drags in folds
as they drop into grey pools,
strain behind a tree.

Finally the others saw one today, trapped,
tangled in our badminton net.
The minute eyes shuddered deep in the creased face
while his throat, strangely fierce, stretched
to release an extinct burning inside:
pathetic loud whispers as four of us
and the excited spaniel surrounded him.”
Michael Ondaatje, The Dainty Monsters

Suzy  Davies
“The piper never knew we were watchers.....Sounds echoed - sounds of a Scottish love song. They echoed through the silence, soft and melancholy, as he kept time with his foot, and the metal of the bagpipes glinted, through faint moonshine, and lifting fog”
Suzy Davies, Johari's Window

Suzy  Davies
“The trees are bedecked with snow, the air is perfumed; how sweet, how dark the sultry fragrance. Forever hypnotising, always haunting. I want to inhale the fragrance of your skin, drink from your open mouth.”
Suzy Davies, Johari's Window

Gabriel García Márquez
“and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred tears of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.”
Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Toni Morrison
“Carefully they replaced the soil and covered the entire grave with uprooted grass.
Neither one had spoken a word.”
Toni Morrison, Sula

Carmen Maria Machado
“Being a woman is inherently uncanny. Your humanity is liminal; your body is forfeit; your mind is doubted as a matter of course. You exist in the periphery, and I think many women writers can’t help but respond to that state.”
Carmen Maria Machado

Salman Rushdie
“It was the Age of Anything-Can-Happen, he reminded himself. He had heard many people say that on TV and on the outré video clips floating in cyberspace, which added a further, new-technology depth to his addiction. There were no rules any more. And in the Age of Anything-Can-Happen, well, anything could happen. Old friends could become new enemies and traditional enemies could be your new besties or even lovers. It was no longer possible to predict the weather, or the likelihood of war, or the outcome of elections. A woman might fall in love with a piglet, or a man start living with an owl. A beauty might fall asleep and, when kissed, wake up speaking a different language and in that new language reveal a completely altered character. A flood might drown your city. A tornado might carry your house to a faraway land where, upon landing, it would squash a witch. Criminals could become kings and kings be unmasked as criminals. A man might discover that the woman he lived with was his father’s illegitimate child. A whole nation might jump off a cliff like swarming lemmings. Men who played presidents on TV could become presidents. The water might run out. A woman might bear a baby who was found to be a revenant god. Words could lose their meanings and acquire new ones. The world might end, as at least one prominent scientist- entrepreneur had begun repeatedly to predict. An evil scent would hang over the ending. And a TV star might miraculously return the love of a foolish old coot, giving him an unlikely romantic triumph which would redeem a long, small life, bestowing upon it, at the last, the radiance of majesty.”
Salman Rushdie, Quichotte

“Magic is what you make it.”
Theo Sage, Witch Ones

Lindsey S. Frantz
“The heat inside me became liquid fire.”
Lindsey S. Frantz, The Upworld

Lev Grossman
“At this moment his dearest wish would have been just a moment's grace to immerse his face in a sinkfull of warm water. And maybe to have somebody hold him under till he drowned.”
Lev Grossman, The Magicians

Stephen Whitfield
“What you must do,” she continued, “you will. Your mission will be as clear to you and as demanding as your heartbeat. Everything else is just a waste of your time.”
Stephen Whitfield, Omari And The People

Bremer Acosta
“All the latchkey children cursed and smashed bottles, teased about underwear, and puffed on those unfiltered cigarettes that only the cowboys could roll.”
Bremer Acosta, Blood of Other Worlds

Truman Capote
“Querido, a esa anciana le sucedió una cosa sumamente peculiar, le sucedió un poco antes de morir. Le creció barba. Comenzó a salirle en la cara, pelos bastante largos. Eran de color amarillo y fuertes como alambres. Yo la afeitaba, ella estaba paralítica de la cabeza a los pies, su piel era como la de un muerto. Pero aquella barba le crecía tan de prisa que casi no podía mantenerle la cara limpia, y cuando murió, Miss Amy le dijo al barbero del pueblo que viniera. Bueno, señor, el hombre echó un vistazo, volvió a bajar las escaleras y salió por la puerta delantera.”
Truman Capote, Other Voices, Other Rooms

D.S. McDonough
“She looked particularly beautiful today and without warning his heart became entangled in her hair and he fell into her sad grey eyes and floundered there, drowning happily.”
D. S. McDonough, The Man with the Ivory Ear

Salman Rushdie
“Brother, too, like his incipiently crazy Quichotte, fell victim to a rare form of mental disorder--his first, paranoia being the second--in the grip of which the boundary between art and life became blurred and permeable, so that at times he was incapable of distinguishing where one ended and the other began, and, even worse, was possessed of the fool's conviction that the imaginings of creative people could spill over beyond the boundaries of the works themselves, that they possessed the power to enter and transform and even improve the real world.”
Salman Rushdie, Quichotte

“She stops, stares deep into my eyes. I wonder if this is where I kiss her, because that is how the story goes, right: first we stare at each other’s eyes, then we kiss, then we marry, than we have kids and then we die, unless we were dead all along, in which case no grand finale for us, oh no. Iva flicks my left brow. Ouch. Don’t suppose I ought to marry a flicker.”
Olga Bogdan, Helena: The Small Town Throwdown

“The term magical realism was invented by Western logic as a twentieth-century oxymoron to denote what clearly is visible but unexplainable. The term fantastic serves a similar function. Using such terms mitigates the magical by adding the realistic. For older belief structures which required no such mitigation, in which the efficacy of practices was not measured by the iron rules and categories of science but by apparent results no such terms were required.
(Shirfa M. Goldman wrote an essay contained within Santa Barraza: Artist of the Southwest
Shirfa M. Goldman

Isabel Allende
“Ella se miro en los
mil pedazos rotos del espejo. Su piel, iluminada por las velas, tenfa el color irreal de
las figuras de cera. Miguel comenzo a acariciarla y ella vio transformarse su rostro en
el caleidoscopio del espejo y acepto al fin que era la mas bella de todo el universe
porque pudo verse con los ojos que la miraba Miguel".”
Isabel Allende, La Casa De Los Espiritus

“The magic realist confuses love, life, letters, and location.”
Mantaranjot Mangat, Plotless

Moïra Fowley-Doyle
“That night, everybody lost something.
Not everybody noticed.”
Moïra Fowley-Doyle, Spellbook of the Lost and Found

Moïra Fowley-Doyle
“The first page said only SPELLBOOK OF THE LOST AND FOUND, like a title.
You cannot read on with a title like that.”
Moïra Fowley-Doyle, Spellbook of the Lost and Found

Moïra Fowley-Doyle
“The spell was on the very fist page: a calling for the lost to be found.
We wanted our diaries found. So Holly suggested we try it.
At first it was like a recipe: gathering moss and branches, raiding our cupboards for olive oil, slipping saints medals out of our nanas' wallets, rooting through the Christmas boxes in the attic, looking for silver string. It was silly and secret and made us feel like kids making mud pies. None of us took it seriously, not even Holly.”
Moïra Fowley-Doyle, Spellbook of the Lost and Found

Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky
“His briefcase, now very worn though not particularly old, continued to direct his endless outgoings and incomings, from the four legs of his bed to the four legs of his office desk and back again. His key went from lock to pocket, and back to the lock. Then one day there yawned before the key not a lock and not a pocket but, shall we say, an abyss. One might, of course, having slipped one’s key into the abyss, turn it twice from left to right. The resident did just that, but… we mustn’t violate the logic of chronos or, as it’s generally known, chronological order.”
Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky, Memories of the Future

“The man spoke again. “Everything you say is nothing. Everything you think is nothing. Everything you believe is nothing. You are just a bystander; you are just a voyeur. You do not belong. You must leave.”

[From My Irish Dog]”
Douglas Solvie

Мирча Элиаде
“Для того, кто любит, ничего не бывает долгим.”
Мирча Элиаде, Гадальщик на камешках

Мирча Элиаде
“Вот я читаю по камешкам и узнаю, что ждет человека, который сел возле них или прямо на них. Потому что, как я понял, человек никогда не садится случайно. Каждый усаживается так, как ему на роду написано. Вы этого не замечали? Вот вы направляетесь к какому-то месту, вам кажется, что там красиво, и вы собираетесь там сесть, но вдруг замечаете, что рядом еще красивее. Вы садитесь, но вдруг понимаете, что вам там что-то не по душе, и вы пересаживаетесь на другое место, и вас вдруг охватывает радость, вы ложитесь на песок и чувствуете, что все прекрасно и весь мир принадлежит вам. Вы нашли себе место, которое было вам предназначено и которое ждало вас.”
Мирча Элиаде, Гадальщик на камешках

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