Cinderella Fairy Godmother Quotes

If Cinderella were given a single shining epiphany (instead of a fairy godmother), she would have realized: "This is my father's house. This is my father's estate. I am the rightful heiress to everything here!" then she would have said: "Get off of my property, take nothing with you, and never show your faces to me again! You ugly, bitter, insecure, envious witches!" And I'm sure she would have been happier, sooner!

Tous mes anciens amours vont me revenir.' - All my old loves will be returned to me

There is no fairy godmother, Cinderella. Life doesn’t work that way. If you’re patient and go through the steps, you will be able to change. But there’s a lot of energy that goes into a transformation.

I just felt like . . . me. And whatever “me” meant, that was perfectly fine and absolutely enough. Everyone should feel that kind of peace and self-acceptance far more often than I think most of us do.

Her godmother, who was a fairy, said, "You would like to go to the ball, is that not so?

People would rather believe in fairy godmothers and divine intervention than to think that you took charge of your own destiny.

gone from Josephine to Cinderella. Except, while Cinderella had evil stepsisters and one fairy godmother, I had Martin and fifteen bitchy birds flitting around me.

Every time he said those words it was like a supernova of joy exploding inside me. I just didn’t yet know that supernovas burn so brightly because a catastrophe is taking place. That lesson would come later.

Happiness can be a dangerous thing; it can make you greedy for more.

I’m no Cinderella. No fairy godmother will be coming to my rescue, so it’s time to turn these rags into gowns and get ready before my pumpkin ride arrives in two hours.

I'm here!" I said..."I'm read to go home!" As if they couldn't see me. As if I couldn't remember what it had been like, fluttering next to someone's ear and whispering into it. How the whole earth was like a musical instrument that we could play effortlessly. ...I could not fly. My sister was not there. My heart was broken.

Remember: There's a reason the fairy godmother gave Cinderella two glass slippers.

Like a child joyfully waving a sparkler, the fairy godmother crisscrossed her wand, and the sturdy orange pumpkin exploded into an elegant gold coach supported by delicate wheels.

I’m always amazed by how readily people judge the right and wrong of things they know only from the outside. Honestly, it kind of pisses me off.

Did anyone care for poor Cinderella until her fairy godmother took her in hand? Did anyone look beyond the ragged clothes and sooty face? Did anyone see the unshed tears and the poor, tired face? Obviously not. Appearances matter.

Mrs. Pott's beady black eyes narrowed,"Do you know how many glass slippers I have to stitch when I get home? There's a Mad Hatter serenading a toaster as we speak. There could be mayhem wreaking havoc all over the love in New Gotham, granted what thankless ingrates you are. But here I am! I've taken a chance on you..

Of course that stupid fat cow- oh what was her face, the one who worked with Cinderella- thought she was the best. But honestly, what was her claim to fame? Turning a pumpkin into a coach? Or, how about making mice footmen? Preposterous. She was a disgrace to all the fairy godmothers out there with her ridiculous bippity-boppity-booing.

Fairy tales. That was all she could remember about fairies, and as she tried desperately to recall the ones she'd heard or read, she realized she knew of few with fairies in them. And the two before her were nothing like Rumpelstiltskin or Cinderella's fairy godmother. Elegant Oberon and Titiana, silly Puck--Shakespeare was no help, either. These two, with their changing shapes and their offhand cruelties, had their roots in horror movies.

Imagine this: Instead of waiting in her tower, Rapunzel slices off her long, golden hair with a carving knife, and then uses it to climb down to freedom. Just as she’s about to take the poison apple, Snow White sees the familiar wicked glow in the old lady’s eyes, and slashes the evil queen’s throat with a pair of sewing scissors. Cinderella refuses everything but the glass slippers from her fairy godmother, crushes her stepmother’s windpipe under her heel, and the Prince falls madly in love with the mysterious girl who dons rags and blood-stained slippers. Imagine this: Persephone goes adventuring with weapons hidden under her dress. Persephone climbs into the gaping chasm. Or, Persephone uses her hands to carve a hole down to hell. In none of these versions is Persephone’s body violated unless she asks Hades to hold her down with his horse-whips. Not once does she hold out on eating the pomegranate, instead biting into it eagerly and relishing the juice running down her chin, staining it red. In some of the stories, Hades never appears and Persephone rules the underworld with a crown of her own making. In all of them, it is widely known that the name Persephone means Bringer of Destruction. Imagine this: Red Riding Hood marches from her grandmother’s house with a bloody wolf pelt. Medusa rights the wrongs that have been done to her. Eurydice breaks every muscle in her arms climbing out of the land of the dead. Imagine this: Girls are allowed to think dark thoughts, and be dark things. Imagine this: Instead of the dragon, it’s the princess with claws and fiery breath who smashes her way from the confines of her castle and swallows men whole.

I have a theory that he’s not actually as stupid as he likes to act, because often he’ll play the stupidity card in a really smart way .

Why do you always rescue me?" — "Every Cinderella needs a fairy godmother. But sometimes your fairy godmother needs you right back.

I was starting to think you'd stood me up,' Julian said. He squinted at Yadriel. "Which one of us is Cinderella in this scenario?" "I'm the fairy godmother," Yadriel managed to croak out. "I think that makes you the pumpkin.

I will say this about that moment when you realize your worst nightmare has proven to be reality— it can be oddly comforting. After all, once you’ve hit rock bottom and lived, there’s only one place you can go, and that’s up.

Even the small joys are worth cherishing, and they will lead you to greater ones." "I want to help you," said Cinderella. "I want magic to return to Aurelais." Lenore shook her head sadly. "That would take a miracle." "You once told me miracles take a little time.

Mrs. Potts beady black eyes narrowed,"Do you know how many glass slippers I have to stitch when I get home? There's a Mad Hatter serenading a toaster as we speak. There could be mayhem wreaking havoc all over the love in New Gotham, granted what thankless ingrates you are. But here I am!

Beauty in a woman is a treasure rare Which we are never weary of admiring; But a sweet temper is a gift more fair And better worth the youthful maid's desiring. That was the boon bestowed on Cinderella By her wise godmother - her truest glory. The rest was "nought but leather and prunella." Such is the moral of this little story - Beauties that charm become you more than dress, And win a heart with far greater facility. In short, in all things to ensure success, The real Fairy Gift is amiability! Talent, courage, wit, and worth Are rare gifts to own on Earth; But if you want to thrive at court - So, at least, the wise report - You will find you need some others, Such as godfathers or mothers.

You won't always have the luxury of a second chance. So be careful with your first one.

Every Cinderella needs a fairy godmother, Baby-baby Panda,” he says, shrugging and putting his sunglasses on. “But sometimes your fairy godmother

I admit, I bear my share of the responsibility for their getting it all wrong, so I guess I’m just going to tell this story as if you knew nothing, because, in reality, even if you read every single article published up to the moment of the big announcement, about the truth, you do know nothing.

Child, I am taking you to The Autumnal Ball.” “The . . . but . . . but . . . I don’t have a ticket.” “Don’t worry about it.” “But how—” “Don’t worry about it.” “But I don’t have a thousand dollars for—” “I said, don’t worry about it.” “But how can I not worry about it? Worrying is what I do! About everything!” With an unexpectedly calm smile, Coco put I finger to my lips. “And that’s why you need a fairy godmother. For the rest of the night you’re not allowed to worry about anything. You have one, and only one, responsibility. To have a dream come true and have the sweetass time of your sweetass life. Do you understand me?

Her whole childhood, she'd devoured stories of children with dead and missing mothers, often easier to find than stories of children whose mothers were alive and well. The absence of a mother was a promise of adventure; mothers made things too safe, too comforting. Children with mothers didn't need to look outside their homes for affirmation of their supremacy in someone's story. They didn't need to write their own protagonism. Esther remembered Cecily complaining about this when they'd watched The Little Mermaid, Cinderella, and Snow White, offended by the lack of loving birth mothers and the prevalence of monstrous stepmothers. She'd squeezed Esther tight and smeared her cheek with red kisses and said, 'This evil stepmother loves you very much.' But despite Cecily's love, which Esther had never doubted, she had already identified within herself the same motherless quality that drove Ariel to shore, Cinderella to the ball, Snow White into the forest. Her motherlessness was intrinsic to her sense of self, and her sense of self was all she had these many years alone. What would it mean if her mother was alive? Not only alive, but aware of Esther and watching out for her, passing notes through magic mirrors and protecting her from afar, her own fairy godmother. What would it mean if her mother had not died, but left her?

But now that I'm older, I realize that August wasn't my fairy godmother after all. Because fairy godmothers can't swoop in and change the story. Fairy godmothers only help you to be you. More you. I wasn't there when Agatha looked in the mirror and realised she was beautiful. I wasn't there when Cinderella danced with her prince. But each of them knew what to do at the time. Because I taught them the same lesson I'm teaching you now. When the real test comes, no one will be there to save you. No fairy godmother will hand you the answers. No fairy godmother will pull you from the fire. But you have something stronger than a fairy godmother inside of you. A power greater than Good or Evil. A power bigger than life and death. A power that already knows the answers, even when you've lost all hope...There is no name for this power...It is the force that makes the sun rise. The force that makes the Storian write. The force that brings each of us into this world. The force that is bigger than all of us. It will be there to help you when the time is right. It will give you the answers only when you need it and not before. And whenever you lose it or doubt its existence, like I have again and again, all you have to do it look inside yourself and ask..."What makes my heart beat?"...That is who your real fairy godmother is. That is what will help you when you need it most.

For those of you familiar with fairy tales, I’m known as the Fairy Godmother. I’m best remembered for transforming Cinderella’s raggedy clothes into a beautiful gown for the prince’s ball – but I won’t give anything else away in case you haven’t read it. You’ll be delighted to see it’s the first story in this treasury. I understand this all may come as a bit of a surprise. It’s not every day you learn that a place like the Land of Stories exists outside one’s imagination. Although it shouldn’t be that shocking if you think about it: After all, if fiction is inspired by mythology, and myths are just embellished legends, and legends are exaggerated history, then all stories must have an element of truth to them. And I can assure you that the fairy-tale world is as real as the book you’re holding in your hands. You’re probably wondering how the stories of the fairy-tale world became so prevalent in your world. Allow me to explain, for I am entirely to

In the shadows, a glass slipper shimmered on her foot. She bent to pick it up. Strange, that everything should disappear except her glass slipper. She hugged it to her chest. Before this night, she hadn't thought magic would ever touch her life. None of this would have been possible without her fairy godmother. She gazed at the stars twinkling above her. Somehow, she knew her godmother was listening. "Thank you so much... for everything." Carefully, she tucked her glass slipper into her pocket. At least she would have it to remind her of what a beautiful night it had been. Her fairy godmother's spell had been broken. Tomorrow, everything would go back to the way it was before. Her stepmother would go back to ordering her around the chateau, her stepsisters, Anastasia and Drizella, to tormenting her over every one of their needs, but she'd caught a glimpse of happiness, something she hadn't felt in many years. Her eyes had opened to the possibility of leaving home, of dreaming dreams that might actually come true. But she wasn't brave enough to chase them- not yet. Not so soon, anyway, after such a magnificent night. What she didn't realize was- she might not have a choice.

Well,’said Ernest, ‘by some strange coincidence I know this story.’ Boddichek was not good at irony. ‘I knew that there was that possibility,’ he said, ‘but we have a great new way to treat it, and I thought you might want to reread it before taking a meeting.’ ‘Reread it?’ said Mayday. ‘We are talking about Cinderella, and the wicked stepmother and the Ugly Sisters and Buttons the page and the Fairy Godmother, "Cinders, you shall go to the ball but be sure you're home by midnight or you'll turn into pumpkin"?’ ‘Hey, you know it pretty well,’ said young Casey with admiration in his voice. ‘But I've found a new directionality for this story.’ ‘Do you mean direction?’ asked Mayday. ‘I guess I do.’ ‘Then’, snapped Mayday, ‘why don't you fucking say so?

Cinderella- thought she was the best. But honestly, what was her claim to fame? Turning a pumpkin into a coach? Or, how about making mice footmen? Preposterous. She was a disgrace to all the fairy godmothers out there with her ridiculous bippity-boppity-booing.

In ten seconds flat, I’d gone from Josephine to Cinderella. Except, while Cinderella had evil stepsisters and one fairy godmother, I had Martin and fifteen bitchy birds flitting around me.

They don’t make fairy godmothers like they used to. Whatever happened to the painless wave of a wand? Or did they simply leave these details out? Did Cinderella get a Brazilian? No one ever talks about what was going on under that dress.

A bit early to put all the chips in the fryer just yet. Why don't you just wait and see? Remember: There's a reason the Fairy godmother gave Cinderella two glass slippers.

Maybe all Cinderellas have fairy godmothers. Mine must have positioned me outside the kitchen so that I could overhear Marcella. I raced up to my room and replaced the books I had taken.

imagine a written version of the Cinderella story that begins and ends with a simple paraphrase of the Disney movie but contains, in between, a 10,000 word poem called “Cinderella’s Lament”—a brilliantly written feminist manifesto challenging most of the sexist assumptions in the original story. Imagine that the poem is written primarily from Cinderella’s perspective but includes speeches by the stepmother and stepsisters as well. The Cinderella of the poem (let us imagine) is as radical as the Disney version is safe. She questions some of her culture’s deepest values and beliefs that women should marry men, that rich and handsome princes are automatically desirable, that a man can love a woman even if he can’t remember what she looks like. The other characters in the poem are, of course, horrified by her unorthodox views, and they do everything they can to contradict her. Every time she speaks, they rebut everything she says. But Cinderella is a clever debater, and she holds her own. They go on arguing and arguing until the Fairy Godmother shows up and angrily puts an end to the debate. “I spent a lot of time and effort catching you a prince,” she tells Cinderella, “and you had better marry him fast if you don’t want to end up a pumpkin yourself.” Cinderella knows when she has been beaten, and she submits—not to a better argument, but to superior physical force. She marries the prince, and they live happily ever after—except, of course, they don’t, and we know they don’t because we have been made privy to Cinderella’s deepest thoughts.

Degas wanted to undermine the stereotype, assert a truth that society ignores — wants to ignore. Dance is not a fairy tale, it’s a painful profession. The little rats are Cinderellas without fairy godmothers, they don’t become princesses, and their carriageless coachmen remain mice, as gray as the cotton ticking of their slippers. They are children who work, the likes of dressmaker’s apprentices, child-minders, and salesgirls, but they work harder than the others.

She felt like Cinderella at the ball with Prince Charming. Only with fewer anthropomorphic mice, musical fairy godmothers and frighteningly hazardous glass slippers. Not to mention that Georgiana would never be an ugly step-sister.

Are they always so mean?” I asked. “It’s the oldest story in the book— the bullied become the bullies.

They say that it’s always darkest before the dawn, but sometimes it’s really darkest the moment you realize a dream was just a dream.

but the human heart has a bad habit of being hopeful.

The sight of Cinderella descending the staircase made Lenore's heart swell. Gabrielle's daughter looked so much like her. The same golden hair, with hints of red like the first leaves of autumn when touched by the sun. The same blue eyes, like cornflowers in midsummer.

When I had no hope left at all that things would get better, my fairy godmother came. I wonder now if hope is the most powerful magic of all." "Hope, and I'd add a thick skin," said Genevieve sensibly. She touched Cinderella's shoulder. "I should have guessed that you have a fairy godmother. The fairies come to those with the heart to change the world around them. You are certainly no exception, Cindergirl.

The fairy godmother replied that true magic is to help each thing become its best and most free self.

And estranged though they might be, Rees couldn't stand the idea that his wife would be rebuffed at the ball. She was no Cinderella, after all, with a fairy godmother waiting in the wings. He would just have to wave his own magic wand. He found himself grinning at that, and decided not to share the joke with Darby.

Even miracles take a little time.

Tolkien’s final necessary condition for a fairy tale is the joyful, consoling ending of the tale. But the “consolation” of fairy-tales has another aspect than the imaginative satisfaction of ancient desires. Far more important is the Consolation of the Happy Ending. Almost I would venture to assert that all complete fairy-stories must have it. At least I would say that Tragedy is the true form of Drama, its highest function; but the opposite is true of Fairy-story.22 The happy ending of fairy tales Tolkien christens “eucatastrophe” (or, a “good” catastrophe). This sudden “joyous turn” is what we find at the end of so many beloved fairy stories. Cinderella gets to go to the ball when the fairy godmother appears. The frog prince dies and is returned to human form. The woodcutter appears and saves Red Riding Hood. This consoling turn satisfies because it is happy, but also because it is miraculous. It is, in a sense, a “deus ex machina” ending. It provides an escape from the sadness of our own world by way of a kind of divine grace. As Tolkien writes, this happy ending is not mere optimism. It does not say that sorrow and death are unreal. Rather, as Tolkien sees it “the possibility of these [sad events] is necessary to the joy of deliverance.” What the eucatastrophe denies is that evil must prevail. In this way, again, fairy stories reflect a deeply Christian hope. Writes Tolkien, “[eucatastrophe] denies (in the face of much evidence, if you will) universal final defeat and in so far is evangelium, giving a fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief.”23 The incarnation of Christ was, for Tolkien, the eucatastrophic turn in all of human history. And the resurrection of Christ, as written in the gospels, was the happy ending that changed the tragic meaning of the Messiah’s death into something that signified hope and consolation.

She’s better than nothing – sort of – and I’m desperate. So here goes. “Fairy Godmother, come to my aid, help me to fix this mess that I’ve made.” Yes, that’s really what she told me to say. I stare at the starry sky and wait. “Hello, brat.” I nearly jump out of my shoes. I whirl around with my hand on my chest. “Crackers, Godnutter, can’t you make a little noise? Stir the wind before you come?” She’s right behind me, large and solid. Looking, as usual, like she just rolled out of bed. Her gray hair is piled in a lopsided bun with sprays that stick out like weeds. She wears a green dress, slightly crumpled, and her transparent wings point out behind her. And, like always, she’s smoking. Godnutter

The blue fairy godmother opened the door, and asked her if she'd had a good time, and she said Yes, and No, and It was very interesting to see all the fancy clothes and the fancy plates with fancy cakes and the fancy mirrors and the fancy lights. And then she said, It was even more interesting to see lizards become footwomen and mice become horses.

Dolly is both Cinderella and her fairy godmother, and she has no need for a Prince Charming.

Today, it was Thalia’s turn to tell the story. And this time, it was going to have a happy ending. She knew this for a fact, because she had written it herself.

In the twinkling of an eye, Cinderella became everything she had ever hoped to be – the most beautiful girl in the Kingdom. Her life was a dream come true, except for one problem: the changes made were temporary. At midnight, she would return to her former, impoverished state. We all feel spiritually impoverished sometimes, and even the most proactive women can get caught waiting for that fairy godmother to appear. Wouldn't it be a lot easier if someone else could suddenly come along and turn our spiritual rags to riches? Waiting for someone or something to transform us into our best selves is tempting, yet how little growth we would experience if such gratuitous transformations were available. Fortunately ... I have it on good authority that the fairy godmother will definitely not be coming. (This is good news for me because I'm not sure I could have resisted her help!) The progress we make in this life will depend upon our own labors, and every blessing .... will be ours to keep.