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Magical Realism Quotes

Browse 287 quotes about Magical Realism.

Magical Realism Quotes

“What he found was astonishing. Every wall was plastered with posters and flyers. Some were like the ones he'd seen on the brick wall at King's Cross; others seemed to advertise specific market traders. Some were old and faded; some seemed much more recent. Some sounded quite ordinary-- Cocksfoot & Sable: Fine Ales and Cheeses; Clancy's Rustic Furnishings-- and some were more unusual. Tom frowned over Yellow Belle's Night-Woven Yarns, and felt his heart beat faster at Spindle Ermine's Love Spells. What kind of a market was this? He thought he understood Bird-Cherry's Flowers and Fruits, or Straw Dot's Most Accurate Timepieces, and even Scarlet Tiger Sleeve Tattoos-- but what was he to make of Pretty Pinion Wing Repairs or Mother Shipton, Laundress of Dreams, or Pale Eggar's Glamours and Charms, or Dusky Sallow's Evercoats?”

Urban FantasyMarketplaceMagical RealismPostersAdvertisementsFlyers
Book:The Moonlight Market
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“A Warrior-Sage, you see, is someone who believes in magic and makes magic work for him. He may not call it magic, but the terminology doesn’t matter. He may call it positive thinking, or belief, or PMA, or power, or visualization, or self-confidence, or faith, or self-control, or zeal, or enthusiasm, or any of a thousand names, but it’s magic all the same. He may call it the God force, or universal consciousness, or Spirit, or his inner self, or peace, or gentle effort, or universal law, or Zen, or divine love, or even dish water! But as long as he makes it a part of his life and understands how to use it, then it’s magic.”

MagicMagical RealismDetermined SpiritWarrior State Of Mind
Book:Wrong Planet - Searching for your Tribe
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“You might think the desert dreams of the sea, but I think deserts dream of other deserts, scorched spaces just like themselves. With them, they don’t feel so alien, so bizarre. They don’t have the bother of explaining—the way they would with the sea—how it is they’re all sand and rock and sagebrush and how the only sound is the wind across the earth.”

SurrealMagical RealismBeautiful WritingShort Story CollectionCollectionStrong Characters
Book:The Only Sound Is the Wind: Stories
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“Magic realism journeys to help you find your true self and release your creative expression, sensuality, and sexuality, by opening your sacral chakra. If blocked, you may experience an inability to receive pleasure. Find out how Jeffrey Dharma unlocked this special power in DHARMA SUTRA. Jeffrey Dharma’s search for love and enlightenment takes him on a path where he meets beings, he thought were only myth and legend. They all help him find the power of love.”

AdventureIndiaReincarnationMagical RealismWest AfricaSpiritual Travel
Book:DHARMA SUTRA
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“Saeed for his part wished he could do something for Nadia, could protect her from what would come, even if he understood, at some level, that to love is to enter into the inevitability of one day not being able to protect what is most valuable to you. He thought she deserved better than this, but he could see no way out, for they had decided not to run, not to play roulette with yet another departure. To flee forever is beyond the capacity of most: at some point even a hunted animal will stop, exhausted, and await its fate, if only for a while. “What do you think happens when you die?” Nadia asked him. “You mean the afterlife?” “No, not after. When. In the moment. Do things just go black, like a phone screen turning off? Or do you slip into something strange in the middle, like when you’re falling asleep, and you’re both here and there?” Saeed thought that it depended on how you died. But he saw Nadia seeing him, so intent on his answer, and he said, “I think it would be like falling asleep. You’d dream before you were gone.”

Magical RealismMigrationPostcolonial Literature
Book:Exit West
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“Dina hummed to herself as she pulled out an empty jam jar from a busy cupboard. It was still labeled "Apricot Jam" from the batch her mum had made for her last year--- jam that tasted like bottled sunshine. There wasn't an exact science to the magic, but Dina often found that the best tea blends were ones she put into secondhand jars, ones that had been full of delicious, wonderful things. She clipped her curls out of her face and headed into the pantry. The walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with all manner of jars and boxes, all individually labeled in Dina's messy handwriting. She kept her spices together, along with other baking essentials like fish vanilla, cake flour, and a tin that was labeled "Eye of Newt" but actually contained nutmeg. Her tea selection had several shelves dedicated to it. Aside from the specialty blends she made for the shop, Dina kept a collection of tea and tisane ingredients, which she could mix into more personal blends at a moment's notice. Dina never felt more in her element as a kitchen witch than when she was looking through her pantry. Scott's tea blend needed to be something that encapsulated his energies yet also helped him in some way. A tea to drink in the middle of a long work day, Dina decided. She twirled a curl around her finger as she focused. She hadn't met any of his fellow curators yet, but from what Scott had told her they could be a bit of a handful. So the kind of tea that would help him get through a long meeting. Something to sharpen a tired mind. Dina knew just the thing for it. She scooped up several jars and laid them out on the counter before her. Black tea--- a full-bodied assam, cacao nibs, dried ginger and... it was missing something. Dina stepped back into the pantry and surveyed her shelves with her hands on her hips. She knew that this would need one more ingredient to be perfect for Scott. Lion's mane mushroom? Perhaps a little too earthy. Clove? Too heavy. It would overpower the other flavors. As her eyes skirted over the rows of jars, she spotted it. A small glass jar with a dark red powder in it. Dried beetroot! Perfect! Energizing yet slightly sweet and smooth, and it would make Scott look like he was drinking some kind of red-velvet-themed drink. Which was also his favorite cake flavor.”

Magical RealismInventoryPantryCafeHerbal TeaKey IngredientBlack TeaCottage Witch
Book:Best Hex Ever
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“But she relished everything about distilling day: the way the sun warmed her scalp through her hair on a midsummer’s morning, the sweet scent of delicate Carolina roses, the breeze full of birdsong—- bluebirds and orioles, crows and cardinals—- warning each other of the Strongs’ intrusion. But mostly she loved being with her father. Out here in the woods, he walked upright, moving with a freedom and purpose he lacked out in the field or in the barnyard. In those places, he seemed bent, bowed. Not like this tall, long-striding daddy who whistled the birds’ songs back to them, who taught her how to perfectly imitate their calls. It made Shine wish she favored him more—- but Elsie was blond and blue-eyed like Hiram and Rebecca got his length along with her mother’s dark hair and eyes. But I got his magic. She loved their secret, almost mystical spot and the idea that no one knew exactly where they were. Shine and her daddy were in their own world.”

Magical RealismShineFather Daughter BondOutdoor LivingFamily Geneology
Book:The Moonshine Women
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“(OSCAR - – -) “When you become sensitive to forces outside and inside yourself, you become sort of a light to others in this world and beyond. It is at this stage that you become very vulnerable to your own vices and weaknesses. The thing that lives under the bed is real—it always has been and it always will be. Walls can’t stop it. Concrete can’t stop it, steel can’t stop it; it slips past a lead, titanium, or garlic buffer like a hot knife through butter. The one and only force that can stop it is you. You never have to take delivery on any package in this realm or others if you remember that they always need your signature. You have the power to stop all of this if you choose, and you should always do so until you find out the entities’ purpose and motives. You are the sentry of your own mind and body, so challenge whomever or whatever wants to come to visit. If it’s beneficial and loving, it will wait or recede until you are ready. If it’s not at all friendly, you and only you have the power to send it back to where it came from, until you give up the right. The strong will eat the weak. What the weak have to remember is that power is a choice given to all. Die on your feet or die on your knees, you decide … death will come to all.”

RealmsMagical RealismSpirit AnimalsThe Mayhem Wrangler
Book:The Mayhem Wrangler
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“After a long while, the giant forest turned into a clearing. Up ahead, a large waterfall rushed into a giant pool. Rippling curls tumbled down the rocks, and the sunlight shone through the spray and made a rainbow in the mist. It was magic to see a rainbow close enough to touch and I reached out my hand. “Isn’t it beautiful?” I said. “Immaculate,” said Mama. “It’s the Valley of the Tears,” I said with a smile. “A place where even the mountains cry”.”

MagicLiterary FictionMagical RealismMothers And DaughtersSaved SoulsTears QuotesMountain QuotesBritish ColumbiaWaterfallCrying Quotes
Book:Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit
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“She hadn’t always been obsessed with babies. There was a time she believed she would change the world, lead a movement, follow Dolores Huerta and Sylvia Mendez, Ellen Ochoa and Sonia Sotomayor. Where her bisabuela had picked pecans and oranges in the orchards, climbing the tallest trees with her small girlbody, dropping the fruit to the baskets below where her tías and tíos and primos stooped to pick those that had fallen on the ground, where her abuela had sewn in the garment district in downtown Los Angeles with her bisabuela, both women taking the bus each morning and evening, making the beautiful dresses to be sold in Beverly Hills and maybe worn by a movie star, and where her mother had cared for the ill, had gone to their crumbling homes, those diabetic elderly dying in the heat in the Valley—Bianca would grow and tend to the broken world, would find where it ached and heal it, would locate its source of ugliness and make it beautiful. Only, since she’d met Gabe and become La Llorona, she’d been growing the ugliness inside her. She could sense it warping the roots from within. The cactus flower had dropped from her when she should have been having a quinceañera, blooming across the dance floor in a bright, sequined dress, not spending the night at her boyfriend’s nana’s across town so that her mama wouldn’t know what she’d done, not taking a Tylenol for the cramping and eating the caldo de rez they’d made for her. They’d taken such good care of her. Had they done it for her? Or for their son’s chance at a football scholarship? She’d never know. What she did know: She was blessed with a safe procedure. She was blessed with women to check her for bleeding. She was blessed with choice. Only, she hadn’t chosen for herself. She hadn’t. Awareness must come. And it did. Too late. If she’d chosen for herself, she would have chosen the cactus spines. She would’ve chosen the one night a year the night-blooming cereus uncoils its moon-white skirt, opens its opalescent throat, and allows the bats who’ve flown hundreds of miles with their young clutching to their fur as they swim through the air, half-starved from waiting, to drink their fill and feed their next generation of creatures who can see through the dark. She’d have been a Queen of the Night and taught her daughter to give her body to no Gabe. She knew that, deep inside. Where Anzaldúa and Castillo dwelled, where she fed on the nectar of their toughest blossoms. These truths would moonstone in her palm and she would grasp her hand shut, hold it tight to her heart, and try to carry it with her toward the front door, out onto the walkway, into the world. Until Gabe would bend her over. And call her gordita or cochina. Chubby girl. Dirty girl. She’d open her palm, and the stone had turned to dust. She swept it away on her jeans. A daughter doesn’t solve anything; she needed her mama to tell her this. But she makes the world a lot less lonely. A lot less ugly.”

Women EmpowermentWomen S RightsMagical RealismFeminist QuotesTrauma HealingTrauma SurvivorsJubileeLatinx LiteratureTrauma TherapyLatina American
Book:Jubilee
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“She believed in magic—the magic of places, the magic of people, the magic of coincidences, serendipity, and fortune. She enjoyed wandering through the world with the open mind and curiosity of a four-year-old child. In her world the mystical, mythical, and magical inhabited the same space and time as the ordinary and the practical. At Bethesda Terrace, she always felt close to a source of magic and creativity. It was as if she was tapping into the place where dragons, angels, gods, sorceresses, and demons came to life.”

FantasyMagicDragonsAngelsDemonsMagical RealismMagical ThinkingSorceresses
Book:Beginnings
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“Rosemary. I breathed in. Its fragrance was woodsy and herbal, rich and savory and layered with olive oil and pine. By that age, I'd been aware for years that my sense of scent was highly attuned; everywhere I went, fragrances whispered to me, telling me of the world, revealing to me insights that were hidden from others. But it wasn't until I held that rosemary in my hands that I began to understand my powerful connection to plants and their scents.”

Magical RealismChildhood MemoryRosemarySense Of Smell
Book:The Memory Gardener
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“There is magic in this kitchen, Juliana, whether you know it or not, and the magic never lies. It is always right, and it is trying to tell you something now. We just have to hear what it is saying. It will lead us to the answer." "Listen to what?" I'm confused. Italian nonnas are a naturally superstitious bunch, armed with a staunch Catholic faith supplemented by old wives' tales and folk remedies. Is that what Nonna is talking about when she speaks about kitchen magic? Some folktale from the past? "The kitchen magic," Nonna says mysteriously. "It will show us how to make these recipes you need.”

MagicKitchenMagical RealismNonna
Book:The Secret of Orange Blossom Cake
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“Crying isn't so bad. I mean, I have a sister..." He paused, and she had the distinct impression he was debating whether or not he should elaborate. On what, Ellie wasn't sure. "And I cry all the time," he said, his voice slightly higher pitched than it usually was. "You do?" Ellie ventured, her voice sounding muted from crying. "Well, it's been a while...and by 'a while', I mean about two days,”

InspirationalRomanceHumourTime TravelMagical RealismAshley NikolePresent HistoryClean Read
Book:Present History
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“By bringing together our differences we will see how similar we really are. Combining our strengths and talents is how we will survive, and embracing love according to the needs and values of the tribe is how we shall conquer our fear...”

Magical RealismFolkloreGaelicNature WritingChristian FantasyCeltic MythologyDruidryAncient ReligionFolklore SymbolismHistoric Fantasy
Book:Heart of the Earth: A Fantastic Mythical Adventure of Courage and Hope, Bound by a Shared Destiny
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