I love you. I saw you that night in the garden, and I knew you were magic like in dreams.

Magic besieges the religious life and men yearn to speak the language of angels.

You can't magic yourself out of the situation, you've got to live it as decently and as grimly as you can.

And so my life has become tiny and mean and incomplete and I must begin it again without comfort and without magic.

He had lived throughout upon magic, upon romantic love in its fullest sense, and this magic, now that she was gone, seemed sometimes likely to kill him.

Only stories and magic really endure.