He gave her his heart. She took it and placed it quietly in the pocket of her gown. No one observed what she did.

A piece of writing is like a piece of magic. You create something out of nothing.

There is nothing in the world so easy to explain as failure - it is, after all, what everybody does all the time.

Some years ago there was in the city of York a society of magicians. They met upon the third Wednesday of every month and read each other long, dull papers upon the history of English magic.

Well, Henry, you can cease frowning at me. If I am a magician, I am a very indifferent one. Other adepts summon up fairy-spirits and long-dead kings. I appear to have conjured the spirit of a banker.

Magic, madam, is like wine and, if you are not used to it, it will make you drunk.

It is these black clothes," said Strange. "I am like a leftover piece of funeral, condemned to walk about the Town, frightening people into thinking of their own mortality.