Fairy Wand Quotes

Fairy godmothers didn't exist, and even if they did, they wouldn't wave a magic wand and make everything better.(Not without a contract, anyway.)

I wished for my fairy godmother, the good witch of the north, or some other bitch with a wand.

It's a sword, not a fairy wand, you know.

These people who expect to be saints in heaven, though they were not on Earth, have ignored the wisdom of the founders of the great religions. This wisdom is that the kingdom of heaven is within you and that you do not go to heaven unless you are already in it. The magic must be wrought by you and you alone. God has no fairy wand to tap the pig and turn it into a swan. People ignore this. And those who believe in sinners burning in hell are, perhaps, not so much concerned with going to heaven as with being sure that sinners-–others-–roast forever in the flames.

But the next time I have to play fairy godmother, I'm shoving a wand up someone's ass.

...but there were no faerie godmothers. There were only mothers and grandmothers, and there was no magic wand to wave over a person's heart and make it all better. The fairy tales lied. ...Fucking Brothers Grimm.

Fairy godmothers didn't exist, and even if they did, they wouldn't wave a magic wand and make everything better. (Not without a contract, anyway.) Besides, I had something better than a fairy godmother; I had my faery knight, my faery trickster, and my faery cat, and that was enough.

It is fashionable among intellectuals and sophisticates to scoff at true love -- to pretend it is nothing but a sweet fairy tale sold to children and young women, to be taken as seriously as magic wands or glass slippers. I feel nothing but pity for these learned persons, because they would not say such foolish things if they had ever experienced love for themselves.

fairy godmother says get that head out of the stars. here’s a secret:  your fairy godmother is inside you.  you only need to believe in her for your every wish to come true.  (no wand necessary.)

In the spring of fifth grade, the boob fairy arrived with her wand and smacked Cassie wicked hard.

When someone dies they can be any age you remember can't they ' she asked. As I tried to think of a reply she continued 'You probably think about the grown-up Tess because you were still close to her. But when I woke up I thought of her when she was three wearing a fairy skirt I'd got her in the Woolworth's and a policeman's helmet. Her wand was a wooden spoon. On the bus yesterday I imagined holding her when she was two days old. I felt the warmth of her. I remembered all her fingers clasped around my finger so tiny they didn't even meet. I remembered the shape of her head and stroking the nape of her neck till she slept. I remembered her smell. She smelled of innocence. Other times she's thirteen and so pretty that I worry for her everytime I see a man look at her. All of those Tesses is my daughter.

Winnie did not believe in fairy tales. She had never longed for a magic wand, did not expect to marry a prince, and was scornful—most of the time—of her grandmother’s elves. So now she sat, mouth open, wide-eyed, not knowing what to make of this extraordinary story. It couldn’t—not a bit of it—be true. And yet:

Getting the puppy's hopes up. More likely, every bloodbag on Eden is screaming and tearing their faces off, but, oh, no, no one wants to hear that" He waved a hand. "So, go ahead, tell him that everything is going to be fine. All the meatsacks are perfectly content on their happy little island, Sarren has given up world destruction to raise kittens, and the magic wish fairy will wave her wand and turn shit into gold.

I wished for my fairy godmother, the good witch of the north, or some other bitch with a wand to glide in here and zap these arrow-shooting assholes.

The fairy waved her scarlet wand, and a shower of sparkling red fairy dust floated softly down to the ground. Where the dust landed, all kinds of red flowers appeared with a pop!

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.

star-topped wand!

If only fairy tales were real. Somebody could wave a wand and magically make things how they used to be.

I wanted to help." "Shouldn't that count for something?" "What, just wanting to?" She shook her head, leaning away from him. "I know people say that it's the thought that counts, but here in the real world, good intentions are about as useful as fairy wands and wishes. Nothing matters but what a person does." "I don't agree," he said simply.

anything that suggests that complicated life forms appeared suddenly, in one go (rather than evolving gradually step by step), is just a lazy story – no better than the fictional magic of a fairy godmother’s wand. As

He had a harder time helping her out though. He was asleep while she was doing stars. Without wings, he couldn't reach anyways. In the end though what he could give her was better than magic wands and magic frogs and magic lamps. Better and more magical. What he gave her was moral support and unconditional love. He promised to be there for her always, even times when the sky proved too vast and the night was dark because she couldn't kindle all the stars. He would light her way instead, he promised. He would be her Polaris, her celestial navigator, her astral guide. And whenever she cam back to Earth, Grumwald promised, he would be there, waiting.

Just think of me as the shoe fairy.” Then he acted like he was bonking me on the head with an imaginary magic wand, “Make your own good memories in those shoes.” I gaped for a second, and then he winked at me. I couldn’t help it, so I smiled at him and then turned to Indy.

Now I, like that Chinese devotee, must confess myself a very ignorant person, and naturally unable to hear the conversation of Ants. But the Fairy of Science sometimes touches my ears and eyes with her wand; and then, for a little time, I am able to hear things inaudible, and to perceive things imperceptible.

An intriguing thought came to her as she looked around: She had spent too much time guessing how to make her son happy. What if her son’s biggest dream was floating around the Hall of Dreams? If she peered into it, maybe she would discover how to help him. The Fairy Godmother raised her wand and waved it in a quick circle. All the orbs in the Hall of Dreams instantly froze. Only one large orb in the distance kept moving. It floated toward her and landed in her hands. She peered inside it, anxious

When I sing, I'm no longer Ilaria Belmagio. I'm a princess or a revolutionary, I'm a milkmaid who's just had her heart broken---or a fairy who's lost her wand." "Or a nightingale who's been found by a lost boy." "Figaro," Ilaria said, naming the character. "Together, they help each other find their way home. I've always liked that story.

When I was done raking and bagging, I banged on the door and demanded entry /...let me in by the hair on your chinny, chin-chin/ (a fairytale moment there) Dick opened it and in his posthest voice, said that before he could possibly consider letting me re-cross the threshold he needed to ask me whether I was a good f*cking fairy or a bad f*cking fairy? Grinning, I told him that I was very wicked fairy and if he had a wand about his person that I could have lend of, I would prove it. He said that was the right answer and promptly yanked me inside where he located and presented me with his wand, breathily ordering the sorcerer's apprentice to perform magic with it. Judging by the look on his face afterwards, I knew I'd impressed him with my oral sorcery and I was more than happy with the short-lifting sorcery Shane performed on me as the same time.

Fairy tales are a kind of life coaching; they show us the obstacles we face, give us wands and potions and magick spells, wicked witches, animal familiars, castles, godmothers, giants, woods with fairy queens, and elves. But we know, deep down, in the Land before Words, fairytales give us courage; we know this magic - we were given it at birth.

She suddenly hated the tooth fairy, with her fancy little wings and magic wand.

He had wished for a dog, and as though some good fairy had waved a magic wand, there was a dog.

From On Combat (2004) Do not expect the combat fairy to come bonk you with the combat wand and suddenly make you capable of doing things that you never rehearsed before. It will not happen.

Mikolay had explored the big attic many times before, and he knew that his mummy misplaced boxes all the time. Ah, I,don’t really want a wand, um, that much. Can we go home now? “Please? begged Julia as she walked toward the door. But Mikolay grabbed her hand and whispered:Lets just see where the shadow is going and after that, we can go right home. Mikolay and Julia carefully moved closer and closer to the wall.

In a sec.......let's see if this will help. Once there was a bunny that was very sad cause his ears were long and floppy and he stepped on them all the time." "Like my shoelaces?" "Yep, just like that. One day a beautiful fairy,,,,,,,," "The shoelace fairy?" "Yep. She landed on the bunny's head and.........." "Didn't that hurt? Does she have a wand?" "Nope. She lifted up the bunny's ears and crossed them over like an x." "I can cross my eyes.........look." "Lovely. She put one ear through the bottom of the x and she pulled." "She pulled the bunny's ears..........bad fairy." "No, she was trying to tie his.........." "Dan," Jordan laughed, "Stop. That is the worst thing I've ever heard." "Well, it's better than the teepees and the arrows and crap," Danny huffed. "Can I go see Andy now?" "Yes, go see Andy and his Velcro sneakers," Jordan snickered. "We give up.

Marriage isn't a fairy godmother waving a wand to change a pumpkin into a carriage. It doesn't instantly transform people into better versions of themselves; instead, it brings couples together and asks them to use love as a reason to become better.

Writers possess magic. It's in their words. They compose phrases as powerful as incantations, creating illusions in the minds of readers. These spells make eyes envision things that aren't real; they make hearts feel things that aren't actual. A writer's work is to pen enchantments meant to entrance and hypnotize the mind, causing neglect of all other duties and responsibilities in order for the reader to remain a puppet controlled by the writer's wand. And if some foul friend does manage to break the spell, he is despised for it. His heroics are too late in coming. The words―the fairy tales―have seeped beyond the body and into the soul, taking possession. Our poor reader is infected, compromised, never to be cured. The notion of magic found in simple words such as, 'Once upon a time...' has always fascinated me. It is no wonder I am compelled to write.

There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight--’” “Midnight, our mum always told us,” said Ron, who had stretched out, arms behind his head, to listen. Hermione shot him a look of annoyance. “Sorry, I just think it’s a bit spookier if it’s midnight!” said Ron. “Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives,” said Harry before he could stop himself. Xenophilius did not seem to be paying much attention, but was staring out of the window at the sky. “Go on, Hermione.” “‘In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. “‘And Death spoke to them--’” “Sorry,” interjected Harry, “but Death spoke to them?” “It’s a fairy tale, Harry!” “Right, sorry. Go on.

Mikolay took his wand out, touched the cage’s lock and said: “Eis Izras” three times. The door opened at once, unfortunately making lots of noise and waking the humans up. Mikolay knew a few powerful hexes and he was able to create small flying dragons. He hoped that he could stop the people, animals, and block the shadows to buy some time.

My fairy lord, this must be done with haste, For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger, At whose approach, ghosts wand’ring here and there Troop home to churchyards. Damnèd spirits all, That in crossways and floods have burial, Already to their wormy beds are gone. For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They willfully themselves exile from light And must for aye consort with black-browed night.

you a very special invitation. Would you like to come to a Fairyland ball?” The girls looked thrilled. “Of course we would!” Rachel cried. “That’s the answer I was hoping for.” Polly laughed. “Get ready — we’re off to Fairyland. One, two, three!” Polly flicked her wand in the air, and showers of glittering fairy dust swirled around the girls. Instantly, Rachel and Kirsty felt themselves spinning through the air as Polly’s magic carried them to Fairyland.

On Halloween, Wendell, Floyd, and Mona were walking home from school when a black cat crossed their path. “Don’t pet it, Floyd!” cried Wendell. “Don’t you know that black cats are bad luck?” “That’s just an old wives’ tale,” Mona said. “Besides, what could happen?” Wendell merely shook his head. “Anything can happen on Halloween.” In fact, something did happen as soon as they got home. First, Wendell discovered that his mad scientist costume had turned pink in the wash. This is definitely a bad sign, he thought. Then Floyd found out that he had to take his sister, Alice, trick-or-treating with him. “Pirates don’t have little sisters,” he complained. Worst of all, Mona’s mother insisted that she go out dressed as a fairy princess. “I look ridiculous,” Mona protested. “Nonsense,” said her mother, and handed her a magic wand. They all felt gloomy that evening as they set out trick-or-treating and hoped that no one they knew would see them.

I gulped; I had the overwhelming sensation that what we had done wasn’t enough. I’m not sure what I had expected, maybe a fairy tale ending where a magic wand fixed everything, including all the darkness we had been through. But this was no fairy tale. Nothing could bring back the thirty boys that had died. Nothing could take away the grief that had torn their family’s hearts into shreds. Experiences like this, I realized, are wounds that never quite healed; they stayed with you and no amount of justice would erase the scar.

Taggart’s head fell back, and he sighed in relief. “Thank God. Does that mean you’ll fuck him?” “You’re kind of the worst fairy godmother ever, you know.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you intend to fuck him?” He was obnoxious. “Yes.” Taggart got up and stretched as though this whole exercise had been tiring. “Then I would say I’m pretty fucking good. But the next time I have to play fairy godmother, I’m shoving a wand up someone’s ass.” He smiled, a wolfish leer. “The good news is, I really like shoving things up a pretty sub’s ass.

Once upon a time there was a fish who lived in a deep lake all by himself. Every day the fish would watch with envy as a boy from the nearby village played with the animals on the land. The boy would run with the horses, wrestle with the dogs, and climb the trees with the squirrels. The fish wanted so badly to play with the boy, too, but he knew that as a fish it was impossible. One day a fairy flying high above the lake dropped her wand in the water. The fish, being the gentleman he was, retrieved the wand for the fairy. ‘As a reward for this kind gesture, I will grant you one wish,’ the fairy told the fish. He thought long but he didn’t think hard, for the fish knew which wish he wanted the fairy to grant him. ‘I want legs, just like all the animals on the land, so I, too, can play with the little boy from the village,’ the fish said. With one simple flick of her wand, the fairy magically turned the fish’s fins into legs and feet and he walked on land for the first time. The next day when the boy appeared, the fish happily showed him his new legs. The two became very good friends and every day they ran with the horses, wrestled with the dogs, and climbed trees with the squirrels. However, one day the little boy was playing too close to the edge of the lake and fell into the water. The fish ran to the edge of the lake and tried to save him, but he couldn’t go in the water without his fins. The little boy couldn’t swim, either, and drowned in the lake. The fish wished he had never wished for legs, because had he just stayed the normal fish God had intended him to be, the little boy would still be alive to this day. The

BEFORE THE TREE HOUSE WAS A RECORDING STUDIO FOR PODCASTS, IT WAS:* A grotto for mermaids and mermen. Piles of seashells. Buckets of sand from our old sand table. Fabric in shades of blue hanging everywhere. A fairy house. Shimmer fabric in shades of pink, yellow, and green. Tissue-paper flowers. Cutout butterflies with huge googly eyes. The boxcar from the Boxcar Children books. Spoons, tin plates, a knapsack, crackers, and plain cookies. Red-and-white-checked fabric for the windows. A keep. Cardboard swords wrapped in foil. Many, many of them. The Gryffindor common room. Red and gold, with wands made out of repurposed foil swords.

He had a harder time helping her out though. He was asleep while she was doing stars. Without wings, he couldn't reach anyways. In the end though what he could give her was better than magic wands and magic frogs and magic lamps. Better and more magical. What he gave her was moral support and unconditional love. He promised to be there for her always, even times when the sky proved too vast and the night was dark because she couldn't kindle all the stars. He would light her way instead, he promised. He would be her Polaris, her celestial navigator, her astral guide. And whenever she came back to Earth, Grumwald promised, he would be there, waiting

For two months, Dad, it would be like you had a son. Someone to pitch baseballs to--” “I pitch baseballs to you.” “Someone to hit fly balls to--” “I hit fly balls to you.” “You’d have a real boy--” “He’s not Geppetto,” Tiffany said, “waiting for the blue fairy to touch us with her magic wand.” Maybe not, but I knew Dad had always wanted a son. What father didn’t? But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was: I wanted a boyfriend this summer, and to have a boyfriend, I needed to meet boys, and the Lonestar League was guys, guys, guys. Honesty time. I released a big sigh. “All right, so maybe I’d like to have a brother for the summer.” Okay, not so honest.

Finally it was time to go into the operating room, and the nurse came to wheel her away from me. My heart tightened. To ease her fears, the pediatric nurses gathered around her and created a “bubble parade,” blowing little soap bubbles as they went into the operating room. To create this fairy-tale experience, they used a wand. Specifically, a bubble wand. All the worry and fear melted from my daughter’s face as she was captivated by the magical moment. As a parent, I felt a great deal of gratitude for this small but meaningful touch. As a marketer, I was awed. I’d just witnessed my daughter’s customer experience switch from anxiety to anticipation in less than ten seconds.

Faced by five glaring goblins, Jack Frost hesitated. “Perrie is the only one who can help you,” said Kirsty. With a sigh and a frown, Jack Frost held out the siren and Perrie took it. A big smile spread across her face as she hugged the siren to her chest. “Now you have to keep your end of the bargain,” said Jack Frost. “I always keep my promises,” said Perrie. She waved her wand over Jack Frost and the goblins. At once Jack Frost jumped to his feet, quickly followed by the goblins. But they didn’t say thank you to Perrie. Jack Frost just glared at the fairies. “You pesky fairies have spoiled everything again,” he grumbled. “How am I supposed to win the Helper of the Year Award without the magical flashing

After being conditioned as a child to the lovely never-never land of magic, of fairy queens and virginal maidens, of little princes and their rosebushes, of poignant bears and Eeyore-ish donkeys, of life personalized, as the pagans loved it, of the magic wand, and the faultless illustrations—the beautiful dark-haired child (who was you) winging through the midnight sky on a star-path in her mother’s box of reels—of Griselda in her feather-cloak, walking barefoot with the Cuckoo in the lantern-lit world of nodding mandarins, of Delight in her flower garden with the slim-limbed flower sprites … all this I knew, and felt, and believed. All this was my life when I was young. To go from this to the world of “grown-up” reality … To feel the sexorgans develop and call loud to the flesh; to become aware of school, exams (the very words as unlovely as the sound of chalk shrilling on the blackboard), bread and butter, marriage, sex, compatibility, war, economics, death, and self. What a pathetic blighting of the beauty and reality of childhood. Not to be sentimental, as I sound, but why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life? To learn snide and smutty meanings of words you once loved, like “fairy.” —From The Journals of Sylvia Plath

Jay took them and stepped in front of the TV. His biceps bulged as he swung the weapon. Carlos watched him, laughing and whooping as Jay fought off the animated attackers. “Guys!” said Mal. “Do I have to remind you what we’re all here for?” “Fairy Godmother, blah, blah, blah,” said Jay as he swung. “Magic wand, blah, blah, blah.” Evie laughed at him. “This is our one chance to prove ourselves to our parents,” said Mal. Evie stopped laughing and faced Mal. “To prove that we are evil and vicious and ruthless and cruel,” said Mal. Jay and Carlos stared at her, too. She had their attention. “Yeah?” Mal asked them. Her friends nodded solemnly. “Evie, mirror me,” said Mal. Mal and Evie sat at the table as Jay and Carlos gathered around them. Evie lifted her mirror. “Mirror, mirror, on the…in my hand. Where is Fairy Godmother’s wand”—she searched for a rhyming word—“stand?” In the mirror, there was an extreme close-up of the sparkling wand. “There it is!” said Evie. “Zoom out,” said Carlos. “Magic Mirror, not so close,” Evie whispered into it.

The princess found herself being gently prodded and pushed and combed and magicked, and her hair felt weird. When she was spun around to face the mirror again, she was in a yellow dress, waves of sunshine spilling down from her bodice to her toes. Her shoulders were bare, which was a little strange, but they were pale and perfect and delicate. 'Swanlike,' she could hear the minstrel saying. Her hair was loosely braided over one shoulder, a yellow ribbon tying it off. The fairies gasped. "You are 'sooooo' beautiful!" Even 'more' beautiful!" "Can it be possible?" "Look at 'this'," a fairy commanded. With a serious look and a wave of her wand, she transformed the princess again. This time her hair was piled high on her head in an elegant chignon, a simple ribbon holding it back. A light blue dress puffed out around her softly, like a cloud. The finest gloves she had ever worn covered her bare arms up to her shoulders. Funny little tinkling shoes felt chilly on her feet. She put her hands on the skirt and twisted this way and that; what a dress to dance in! She would look like a fairy herself. Or a bride.

The old man may have had all his own teeth, but only because no one else could possibly have wanted them; just one of them, placed under the pillow, would have made the Tooth Fairy hand in its wand.

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.

But even the most loving and dedicated parents soon discover that in a child’s world a good fairy is easily transformed into a witch, the friendly lion turns into a ferocious beast, the benevolent king becomes a monster, and the paradise of early childhood is periodically invaded by dark and sinister creatures. These night creatures of the child’s inner world are not so easily traced to real persons and real events in a child’s life. While we are enormously flattered to recognize ourselves in a child’s fantasy life as a good fairy, a genie, or a wise old king, we cannot help feeling indignant at the suggestion that we can also be represented as a witch, a bogey, or a monster. After all, we have never eaten or threatened to eat small boys and girls, we are not distillers of magic potions, we are not ferocious in anger, we do not order dreadful punishments for minor (or major) crimes. It is also true, to be fair about it, that we do not have magic wands, cannot be summoned from a bottle or a lamp to grant wishes, and do not wear a crown, but we are less inclined to argue about these distortions of parenthood. How

Bless spinster Aunt Hilda, hitherto considered eccentric, once a suffragette, a schoolmistress, and finally a county councillor, now waving posthumously the wand of a fairy godmother.

Q: What does a computer do when it’s tired? A: It crashes. Q: What did the tooth fairy use to fix her wand? A: Toothpaste. Q: Why did the computer get glasses? A: To improve his web sight. Q: What stays in the corner but travels all over the world? A: A stamp. Q: What did the computer say when it fell into quicksand? A: “Help me! I’m syncing!” Q: What do you get when you have two doctors at once? A: Pair-a-medics. Q: What should you do when you get in a jam? A: Grab some bread and peanut butter. Q: How can you go surfing in the kitchen? A: On a micro-wave.

✓the ancient ritual of the earth; ploughing and planting, reaping and threshing. The fundamental business remains unaltered; it is only the methods and tools that science is changing. ✓If you want good roses, sharpen your knife and harden your heart. ✓much of gardening is a struggle against the fecundity of Nature ✓New words are always being born and old ones fading away. ✓Winter sunshine is a fairy wand touching everything with a strange magic. It is like the smile of a friend in time of sorrow.

My Butterfly. An Elegy THINE emulous fond flowers are dead, too, And the daft sun-assaulter, he That frighted thee so oft, is fled or dead: Save only me (Nor is it sad to thee!) Save only me There is none left to mourn thee in the fields. The gray grass is not dappled with the snow; Its two banks have not shut upon the river; But it is long ago— It seems forever— Since first I saw thee glance, With all the dazzling other ones, In airy dalliance, Precipitate in love, Tossed, tangled, whirled and whirled above, Like a limp rose-wreath in a fairy dance. When that was, the soft mist Of my regret hung not on all the land, And I was glad for thee, And glad for me, I wist. Thou didst not know, who tottered, wandering on high, That fate had made thee for the pleasure of the wind, With those great careless wings, Nor yet did I. And there were other things: It seemed God let thee flutter from his gentle clasp: Then fearful he had let thee win Too far beyond him to be gathered in, Snatched thee, o’er eager, with ungentle grasp. Ah! I remember me How once conspiracy was rife Against my life— The languor of it and the dreaming fond; Surging, the grasses dizzied me of thought, The breeze three odors brought, And a gem-flower waved in a wand! Then when I was distraught And could not speak, Sidelong, full on my cheek, What should that reckless zephyr fling But the wild touch of thy dye-dusty wing! I found that wing broken to-day! For thou are dead, I said, And the strange birds say. I found it with the withered leaves Under the eaves. Robert Frost, A Boy’s Will. (1st World Library - Literary Society February 20, 2006) Originally published 1913.

There is a lot of randomness in the universe, but truly lucky people recognize that fairy godmothers are lazy. If taking your career to the next level will require your fairy godmother to tip her wand, make sure the wand is pointed at you, and that you’re standing as close to her as possible, so all she has to do is nudge the thing like a bored barfly fiddling with a cocktail glass.

The magic wand that can spread fairy dust on everything you hear, touch, and see is called attention.

I don’t know, but I thought they were the best sort of gifts, for I saw that plenty of kind thought and clever contrivance went to them, ay, and some little self-denial too.” “Papa, you look as if you meant something; but ours are nothing but nasty old rubbish.” “Perhaps some fairy, or something better, has brought a wand to touch the rubbish, Blanche; for I think that the maidens gave what would have been worthless kept, but became precious as they gave it.” “Do you mean the list of our flannel petticoats, papa, that Mary has made into a tippet?” “Perhaps I meant Mary’s own time and pains, as well as the tippet. Would she have done much good with them otherwise?” “No, she would have played. Oh! then you like the presents because they are our own making? I never thought of that. Was that the reason you did not give us any of your sovereigns to buy things with?” “Perhaps I want my sovereigns for the eleven gaping mouths at home, Blanche. But would not it be a pity to spoil your pleasure? You would have lost all the chattering and laughing and buzzing I have heard round Margaret of late, and I am quite sure Miss Rivers can hardly be as happy in the gifts that cost her nothing, as one little girl who gives her sugar-plums out of her own mouth!” Blanche clasped her papa’s hand tight, and bounded five or six times. “They are our presents, not yours,” said she. “Yes, I see. I like them better now.

On where imagination comes from: “I think it comes from fairies … certain children are visited by a fairy in their cradle, and are tapped on their forehead with a small but luminous wand. After that, even all the forces in our culture, and there are many, are unable to totally subdue it.

Rachel thinks, What long fingers Mama has, like wands in fairy tales. All the better to conduct with my dear! Ekaterina Wolff has conduits for fingers. Rachel muses on the conducting of music and the conducting of electricity, and of the yellow sign depicting a man falling, struck by a current. Danger of death! What fells the man? A powerful conduction of electricity? Of thought? Of sound? Which? Perhaps the man is felled by music. In the sign, he falls backwards.

With the last of my magic, I pledge to help Pinocchio become a real boy." She extended her hand to Chiara. "You remember what happened when our magics came together and struck your dove?" As if on cue, Chiara's white dove flew past them and landed on Ilaria's arm. "She came to life," Chia murmured. "Thanks to the two of us." "It takes two to make miracles happen," said Ily. "Will you do the honors?" Taking in a deep breath, Chiara nodded, and together, hand in hand, the sisters approached the lifeless Pinocchio. Prove yourself brave, truthful, and unselfish, and someday you will be a real boy. She touched her wand to Pinocchio's head. "Awake, Pinocchio. Awake." Magic brimmed across the young boy's still body, bringing him to life. His cheeks turned rosy, and his wooden nose became one made of flesh, the nails in his knees and elbows turning into joints and bone and muscle. Gone were his donkey ears and tail. "Papa!" he spoke. "Papa, I'm alive!" Geppetto rose from the sand, unable to believe his ears. But when he saw his dearest Pinocchio a real boy, his tears of sorrow turned to joy. He scooped his boy into his arms. "My son," he whispered. "You've come home." Chiara watched them, her heart full of relief and gladness. This was what made her love being a fairy--- the tender moments of joy, the proof that hope was never in vain.

A tingle shot up Chiara's spine as she grabbed one end of Agata's wand. Power coursed through her and out the wand, joining with the other fairies' magic. What was more, as she held Agata's wand, she could feel the fear and awesome wrath coming from Monstro. It was a taste of wild power, so intense and strong she felt she could do anything with it. Now she understood why Monstro was so valuable to the Heartless. His wrath was never-ending, and it took little effort for her to sense that his wells of strength were immense. Chiara pushed Monstro's power aside and focused on Agata's instructions. She was supposed to wield the wand while thinking of her fondest dreams. She thought about all the mornings she had spent with Ily, making music together, making messes in their parents' bakery kitchen, tossing pistachio cookies and chocolate cakes at each other. Was it her imagination, or did a stream of pale blue magic course out of Agata's wand?

Chiara gasped as her mentor passed her the wand, and a small star appeared at its tip. It should have warmed Chiara's heart to see it, but she could barely muster a smile. "The reception of a fairy's wand is often a bittersweet occasion. Let that be a reminder for you that magic can bring great joy as well as sorrow, hope as well as fear. May you use yours to shine light upon darkness." "I will," Chiara vowed. As soon as the words left her lips, the star on her wand came aglow and a pair of iridescent wings bloomed from her back. "What name will you take, Chiara Belmagio?" The answer was one she had toyed with ever since she'd considered the fairies' invitation. "The Blue Fairy." Blue was the color that brought her joy. The color of the walls of the music room where she and Ilaria had spent countless hours laughing and chasing each other and making music; the color of her father's eyes, like hers; the color of the sea where she and Niccolo took their little boat out when the weather was fair. Her dress shimmered with stardust. The pale color deepened into a warm and rich blue, and the fabric softened into gossamer silk. The threads stitched themselves into a gown worthy of a good fairy, turning her long sleeves into iridescent swaths of starlight. A beautiful yet understated uniform. Perfect for the new fairy. Only the ribbon she wore in her hair was the same as before. A reminder of Chiara Belmagio, daughter of Pariva.

As Jiminy hopped away, the Blue Fairy spun her wand for one last spell before she tucked it away for a year. In her mind, she conjured the smell of cinnamon and pistachios, of chocolate and buttery sugar. A modest plate appeared on her palm, and she inhaled. "Just like home," she whispered to herself. With a wave of her arm, she let go of her wand and made for the humble two-storied house with a yellow door. A lemon or two still hung from the trees brushing against the back window, and a bittersweet pang overcame Chiara's heart. It squeezed inside her, filled with excitement and nervousness and wonder. When she found her courage, she knocked. At first, she didn't think anyone heard. Then from inside, Niccolo's wife shouted: "It's the girls! They must be back early!" Footsteps approached, and Chiara held her breath. Niccolo himself answered the door, and let out a gasp. The expression on her brother's face was one she would treasure all her life. Joy and surprise flooded his eyes as years of forgotten memories came back to him. When he finally cried her name, his voice choked with emotion. "Chiara?" "I know I'm a few years late," she said, finally letting go of her breath. She smiled at her brother. "But is there room for one more at dinner tonight? I've brought cookies.

Do not expect the combat fairy to come bonk you with the combat wand and suddenly make you capable of doing things that you never rehearsed before. It will not happen.

It's a fairy wand. I'm a really terrible Fairy Godmother." "Bullshit! Do a magic!

I suddenly felt very resentful. Had anyone ever picked up my undies? Folded away my jeans? Of course not! Because, regrettably, the magic fairy didn’t have her own magic fairy. And, right now, the magic fairy had the hump up to her wand. I recognised that rebellion was frothing up, just like this toothpaste foaming away as my fingers worked at the goo. Did I want to spend the rest of my life cleaning toothpaste off sinks?

Just as Geppetto persisted in his false wish to make his created toy into a real boy, even so you must persist with Pinocchio’s nose and courage in the belly of the fish, until the fairy of the universe waves her wand, enchants your dreams and gives genuine life to your every wish.

I knew as I was leaving Disney World that I had a long way left to go on the road to adulthood. But unlike in Disney films, you can't just wave a wand or try on a slipper and have your dreams come true. In real life, magic takes time. Sometimes it takes so long, you start to doubt it even exists. Romance, just like a pixie fairy, will die if you don't believe in it.

A hierarchy of rank brings about order. Peasants don’t deserve fairy guardians waving their problems away with magic wands.

We could fit like the fairy tale But you’re growing out of Us before we can try Us on Don’t walk someone else’s line Take me back to the “Once Upon a” time Before this magic wand hits you like a hired gun ’Cause I can see us dancing through the years When someone else’s dream outruns its run Come to me undone

I urge you to think long and hard about prayer. How can it not be classified as a form of magical thinking? In many cases, even an attempt at conjuring? Folks who pray are usually earnest about it, thinking with all their might about messages they have for God. But how do the thoughts inside our heads—trapped there by our skulls—escape to be perceived by God? There are no known mechanisms by which that would work, just as there are no known ways by which the popular spells in the Harry Potter stories would work. Nobody even tries to explain how the Fairy God Mother in Cinderella, waving a wand, changes a pumpkin into a carriage—because that’s fantasy. Does prayer amount to waving a wand in our minds? The efficacy of prayer should not be off-limits for legitimate inquiry. Indeed, scientific studies of prayer have not yielded hoped-for results.

It was a modest invention, but its uses were so varied that man always looked upon it as a symbol of power and authority, from the wand of the fairies and the staff of the shepherd to the rod of Moses or Aaron, the ivory cane of the Roman consul, the lituus of the augurs, and the mace of the magistrate or the king.

Part of the telling of the fairy tale of ‘Shining India’ demands that the poor disappear. In India, this has been achieved through the waving of a magical, statistical wand.

It all came back. Yes, it came back. For the last two months it had ceased to be; it had been blotted out—hidden, forgotten; there had been no such thing. An enchanter's wand had been waved above that dreary square-built house in the dusty lane, and a fairy palace had arisen for her habitation; a fairy-land of beauty and splendour had spread itself around her, a paradise in which she wandered hand in hand with a demigod.

Ravinel was used to driving at night. He preferred it, for he liked being alone and liked it all the more when tearing through the darkness at top speed. At night there was no need to slow down even at a village. The headlights lit up the road fantastically, making it seem like a canal stirred by a slight swell. Sometimes he could almost imagine he was in a speedboat. Then suddenly it would be like shooting down the slope of a switchback: the white posts bordering the road at the turnings would sweep giddily past, their reflectors glittering like precious stones. It was as if you yourself were conjuring up with a touch of your magic wand this unearthly fairy world, round which was a dim, shadowy void with no horizon. You dream. You leave your earthly flesh behind., to become an astral body gliding through a sleeping universe. Fields, streets, churches, stations. Created on the moment out of nothing and then swept away into nothingness again. A touch of the accelerator is sufficient to destroy them. Perhaps they have never really existed. Mere figments, created by you and lasting no longer than your whim, except, now and again, for an image that stamps itself on your retina like a dead leaf caught on your radiator—yet even that is even no more real than the rest.

is fashionable among intellectuals and sophisticates to scoff at true love—to pretend it is nothing but a sweet fairy tale sold to children and young women, to be taken as seriously as magic wands or glass slippers.11 I feel nothing but pity for these learned persons, because they would not say such foolish things if they had ever experienced love for themselves.

Think that’s why all the princesses and fairies carry wands?” “What the hell are you talking about?” “You know . . . so they could have a magic stick of their own. I bet old Walt was feeling sorry for us when he designed the wand.” She holds an imaginary scepter in her fingers and swirls it around the air above us. “You know . . .” I yawn, feeling sleep threaten to take me. “You may be on to somethin’, bestie.” “Course I am,” Gina says through a yawn of her own. “Why do you think they call dildos wands?

the slipper to her foot, it instantly slipped in, and he saw that it fitted her like wax. The two sisters were amazed to see that the slipper fitted Cinderella; but how much greater was their astonishment when she drew out of her pocket the other slipper and put it on! Just at this moment the fairy entered the room, and touching Cinderella's clothes with her wand, made her all at once appear more magnificently dressed than they had ever seen her before. The two sisters immediately perceived that she was the beautiful princess they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet, and asked her forgiveness for the ill treatment she had received from them. Cinderella helped them to rise, and, tenderly embracing them, said that she forgave them with all her heart, and begged them to bestow on her their affection. Cinderella was then conducted, dressed as she was, to the young prince, who finding her more beautiful than ever, instantly desired her to accept of his hand. The marriage ceremony took place in a few days; and Cinderella, who was as amiable as she was handsome, gave her sisters magnificent apartments in the palace, and a short time after married

fitted Cinderella; but how much greater was their astonishment when she drew out of her pocket the other slipper and put it on! Just at this moment the fairy entered the room, and touching Cinderella's clothes with her wand, made her all at once appear more magnificently dressed than they had ever seen her before. The two sisters immediately perceived that she was the beautiful princess they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet, and asked her forgiveness for the ill treatment she had received from them. Cinderella helped them to rise, and, tenderly embracing them, said that she forgave them with all her heart, and begged them to bestow on her their affection. Cinderella was then conducted, dressed as she was, to the young prince, who finding her more beautiful than ever, instantly desired her to accept of his hand. The marriage ceremony took place in a few days; and Cinderella, who was as amiable as she was handsome, gave her sisters magnificent apartments in the palace, and a short time after married them to two great lords of the court.

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.

Before they could decide what to do, the witches were upon them. Leona cackled even louder. Just look over there. You’ll see something scary. It’s Tinkerbell Mona Dressed up like a fairy! The witches squealed and guffawed. They snorted and wheezed and rolled on the ground. Mona waited until the laughter died down. Then her eyes flashed, and suddenly so did her magic wand. “Now I’ve got a poem for you,” she said, and pointed her wand straight at them. Ibbity bibbity, bobbity boad. Leona Fleebish, you’re a toad! Instantly, a bolt of white light shot out from the wand, Followed by a clap of thunder and a great puff of smoke! The next thing they knew, Wendell, Floyd, Mona, and Alice landed right back on the corner where their evening had begun. There wasn’t a witch in sight, and their bags were filled with wonderful, ordinary candy. Wendell stared at Mona’s wand. “How did you do that?” She just shrugged. “You said anything can happen on Halloween.” Later, they sat in Floyd’s living room, sorting their candy and sipping cocoa. “You know, Floyd,” said Wendell. “You make a pretty good pirate.” “Thanks. You’re a good mad scientist too, even if you are pink. But Mona was the best of all.” She smiled. “I guess being a fairy princess was okay. Still, I’m sort of glad it’s over. Now we can all get back to normal.” After a while, Leona Fleebish even stopped being a toad.

Kimi, I think it’s a landslide!” Gracie cried out. Small rocks joined the pebbles and Kimi flicked her wand. A giant bubble appeared around the goat. The rocks and pebbles bounced off it, keeping everyone safe. A few seconds later, the kid landed gently beside its father. He nuzzled it happily. “Now I’m happy that the chief troll threw my bubble tea this way,” said Kimi. “If she hadn’t, we would never have been able to save the baby goat.

Someone asked: If we were handed a magic wand and told we could suddenly not be transgender, and instead be placed directly into the body we desired, would we do it? The first guy on the panel, whose name was Adam, said yes, because he was a singer and had made the decision not to take testosterone because it would likely deepen his voice. The second person on the panel also said yes, because she wanted to have a baby someday but wouldn’t be able to because she wasn’t born with a uterus. I’d love to have a baby of my own someday, too, and the audience member’s question made me think of that old dream I’d had with the Good Fairy and her magic wand. But my life had changed so much since then, and all for the better. Before I knew what was happening, I started to tear up right there in front of the whole roomful of people. “I’d break the wand in half,” I said. “I’m proud of who I am.

FAIRY BACONMOTHER: [waves bacon wand over the salad] [SOUND EFFECT of magic dust: Brrrring!] FAIRY BACONMOTHER: Bibbity, Bobbity, Bacon! WOMAN: Oh my! You just turned it into a delicious entrée. Thank you, Fairy Baconmother! Of course, once you put bacon in a salad, it’s no longer a salad. It just becomes a game of find the bacon in the lettuce. I always feel like I’m panning for gold. “Found one! Eureka!