I believe in word magic — the witty, ironic and super sarcastic.

Making something substantial disappear is the magic trick the brave do everyday.

A lie is a slight of hand, it slips the truth up a verbal sleeve.

Proverbs are magic — the high brow, the mid-wow, the pseudopelagic.

Wonder gave birth to magic — and the ecstatic.

Necromancy is chancy — try math.

There is no augury, only trickery or truthery.

Magic is the fanciful mental furniture of romantic girls and desparate old men.

We want to believe in magic, but it’s mostly just good luck or tragic.

As the scarf keeps coming from the hat, so memories keep unraveling from the soul.

Magic deception, power perception, transformation requires a solid connection.

Faith isn’t believing that God will pull a rabbit out of a hat; it is putting on your hat and going rabbit hunting.

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