Gregory Maguire Quotes
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What goes unnamed remains hard to correct.
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Immortality is a chancy thing; it cannot be promised or earned. Perhaps it cannot even be identified for what it is.
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So she listened hard. And she began to evolve, because stories work their magic that way. They build conviction and erode conviction in equal measure.
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Animals are born who they are, accept it, and that is that. They live with greater peace than people do.
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Maybe the definition of home is the place where you are never forgiven. So you may always belong there, bound by guilt. And maybe the cost of belonging is worth it.
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It's been a long rocky life, with plenty of possibility but too much human ugliness.
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This is why you shouldn't fall in love, it blinds you. Love is wicked distraction.
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One never learns how the witch became wicked, or whether that was the right choice for her~is it ever the right choice? Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil?
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Are you the dart?" he said. "Are you the knife? The fuse?" She said (though he wasn't convinced): "My deane, my poppet, I am too green to walk into a public place and do something bad.
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If you have an ancestor who is a Benedictine monk, we would rather not know it.
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Wishing is the beginning of imagination. They practice wishing when they are young things, and then -when they have grown - they have a developed imagination. Which can do some harm - greed, that kind of thing - but more often does them some good. They can imagine that things might be different. Might be other than they seem. Could be better.
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No one is exempt from grief.
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Galinda didn't often stop to consider whether she believed in what she said or not; the whole point of conversations was flow.
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We live in our tales of ourselves, she thought, and ignore as best we can the contradictions, and the lapses, and the abrasions of plot against our mortal souls.
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Because no retreat from the world can mask what is in your face.
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You could say that Elphaba brought us together,' said Boq softly. 'I'm closer to her and so I'm closer to you.' Galinda seemed to give up. She leaned her head back on the velvet cushions of the swing and said, 'Boq, you know despite myself I think you're a little sweet. You're a little sweet and you're a little charming and you're a little maddening and you're a little habit-forming.' Boq held his breath. But you're little!' she concluded. 'You're a Munchkin, for god's sake!' He kissed her, he kissed her, he kissed her, little by little by little.
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The thing about a mirror is this: The one who stares into it is condemned to consider the world from her own perspective.
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Such silly things, children -- and so embarrassing -- because they keep changing themselves out of shame, out of a need to be loved or something. While animals are born who they are, accept it, and that is that. They live with greater peace than people do.
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She watched the sun bleed water out of the icicle. Warm and cold working together to make an icicle. Warm and cold anger working together to make a fury, a fury worthy enough to use as a weapon against the old things that still needed fighting.
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Little critters fried like fritters come out crunchy and divine.
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...No opening sermons concerning children with humps and fins for limbs, who nonetheless, immortal souls all, deserve life, liberty, and the pursuit of Happy Meals.
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We are loping sequences of chemical conversions, acting ourselves converted. We are twists of genes acting ourselves twisted; we are wicks of burning neuroses acting ourselves wicked. And nothing to be done about it. And nothing to be done about it.
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The wickedness of men is that their power breeds stupidity and blindness.
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The real thing about evil," said the Witch at the doorway, "isn't any of what you said. You figure out one side of it - the human side, say - and the eternal side goes into shadow. Or vice versa. It's like the old saw: What does a dragon in its shell look like? Well no one can ever tell, for as soon as you break the shell to see, the dragon is no longer in its shell. The real disaster of this inquiry is that it is the nature of evil to be secret.
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No one controls your destiny. Even at the very worst - there is always choice.
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Science, my dears, is the systematic dissection of nature, to reduce it to working parts that more or less obey universal laws. Sorcery moves in the opposite direction. It doesn't rend, it repairs. It is synthesis rather than analysis. It builds anew rather than revealing the old. In the hands of someone truly skilled,...it is Art.
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...perhaps charity is the kind of beauty that we comprehend the best because we miss it the most.
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Everyone dies. It's a question of where and how, that's all.
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I know you don't want to hear this but someone has to say it! You are out of control! I mean they're just shoes... let it go!
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That's what misbehavior is all about, just a little extra loving being asked for.
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