Practical Magic Sister Quotes

Helplessness and anger make for predictable behavior: Children are certain to shove each other and pull hair, teenagers will call each other names and cry, and grown women who are sisters will say words so cruel that each syllable will take on the form of a snake, although such a snake often circles in on itself to eat its own tail once the words are said aloud.

When you have a sister, someone knows the story of who you were and who you would always be.

Night and Day, they called them, and although neither girl laughed at this little joke or found it amusing in the least, they recognized the truth in it, and were able to understand, earlier than most sisters, that the moon is always jealous of the heat of the day, just as the sun always longs for something dark and deep.

Who can you trust if not your sister? Who knows your story better than she? If you saw one Owens sister at the grocery, the other would be right beside her. If one was working in the garden, making certain the rows of herbs were weeded, her sister would be there as well, carrying a basket to collect the dandelion greens.

There he is, in the fading light, certain of what he wants, certain of her. If Gillian were speaking to her sister, or more correctly, if Sally were speaking to her, Gillian would draw her over to the window to get a look. Isn't he beautiful? That's what she would have said if she and Sally had been talking. I wish I deserved him, she would have whispered into her sister's ear.

Sisters were sisters, after all, and if they didn’t stick up for each other, who would?

a quotation that had been her favorite, written by the poet she most admired. Unable are the Loved to die For Love is Immortality. Unbeknownst to Jet, Franny had added another line beneath her sister’s name. Beloved by all.

I dream of Morocco and Paris, and a koi pond in the backyard. Making art, supporting art, learning art. Late-night talks with soul sisters who make me feel crazy blessed and motivated. Stage presence. Books and more books. Film. Belly laughs. I dream about communion. My man. Our son. Always. I dream of sitting around a fire with leaders and lovers of progress. Being able to give yeses that open doors and new dimensions for people. I dream of tenderness and innovation. I dream of invitations that humble me, and magical connections with people I recognize on a cellular level. I dream that we band together to leverage change. I dream of feeling more electric and sweet every single day. Mostly, I dream of being amazed. How ’bout you?

And then there was my magic. A wicked smile played across my lips as I thought about it. I couldn't do much yet, but I was rapidly learning the one thing I had taken to like a duck to water: spell circles. I'd gotten enough of a crash course with Max during the battle, and since my blood was practically made to charge spells, I was doing quite well with them. Our mountainside was filled with them now. It had taken me two solid months, but I'd finally encircled the area so that Ryker could freely transform and fly in his dragon shape without seeing him. Well, most anyone; I'm still learning after all. I found if I applied myself I could learn the runes on my own. No Book of Sisters needed, just like Max had said. And apply myself I did. I will never be helpless again. I spent a lot of days practicing while Ryker went hunting. I may not be able to conjure anything, or transform things or curse things. But I could put a set of rules in a spell circle, and with my blood as the active component, my circles were pretty near indestructible now.

Darius grunted irritably. “You let me in last time,” he reminded me in a low voice. “Why did you trust me then and not now?” I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “I didn’t trust you then either. I just had to push past my natural inclination to protect myself from sociopaths. You’ll have to give me a moment before I can easily do so again.” I bit my lip as his grip on my hands tightened and he tugged me closer again, our chests almost brushing as I looked up at him. “Stop power fucking her and start working on what Pyro wants,” Caleb called and I flinched, yanking my magic back again as I looked around at him and Darcy. “Are you afraid I’m going to steal her attention from you, Cal?” Darius asked Caleb with the hint of a smile playing around his lips. “Not likely,” Caleb replied dismissively but his eyes narrowed. “I’m still here,” I reminded them irritably. “And neither of you are interesting enough to keep my attention for long so there’s no point in you getting your panties in a twist over it. Maybe we should just get on with this class?” Darius smirked at Caleb tauntingly and I rolled my eyes at him. “Well I’m happy enough to practice without help if you wanna leave me to it?” Darcy suggested, not-so-subtly trying to tug her hand out of Caleb’s grip. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I promise to be gentle with you,” he said, ignoring her attempts to break free. My sister obviously had reservations about this activity and I couldn’t really blame her. She shot me a look which basically said she’d rather be pretty much anywhere else than holding Caleb’s hand and I glanced at Darius before raising an eyebrow at her as if to say ‘who’s got it worse?’. Darcy snorted a laugh and the two Heirs looked between us like they were trying to figure out what we’d just communicated to each other. “Come on, Roxy, let’s see what you’ve got,” Darius said, releasing one of my hands so that I could cast with it. He didn’t need any further encouragement and stepped forward to grip my waist like he had before. This time I didn’t press my body to his though and instead focused on harnessing my magic in the way I wanted. My frustration meant I threw more power at the task than I’d intended and I yanked on Darius’s magic too. A full sized motorbike materialised in the flames before me and with a surge of triumph, I sent it tearing across the arena. Pyro stopped what she was doing and actually applauded me and I grinned to myself as more than a few of my classmates joined in. I started making the bike weave between the students as it did a circuit of the arena and Darius leaned close to my ear as he maintained his grip on me. “Congratulations, Roxy. Looks like we’ve got a date Wednesday night then.” I ignored the flutter in my chest as he called it a date because it absolutely didn’t take place. “Maybe I’ve already got plans Wednesday,” I said. “Yeah, you do. With me.” He released his grip on my waist and my control over the magic faltered as the bike burst apart into a thousand flaming tendrils which burnt out quickly without anything to maintain them. (tory)

Children are certain to shove each other and pull hair, teenagers will call each other names and cry, and grown women who are sisters will say words so cruel that each syllable will take on the form of a snake, although such a snake often circles in on itself to eat it's own tail once the words are said aloud.

She wishes that she could go out and pay soccer with Gideon and not feel other people's pain. She wishes that she were twelve years old again, and that men didn't shout out their car windows whenever she walks along the Turnpike about how much they'd like to fuck her. She wishes she had a sister who acted like a human being, and an aunt who didn't cry herself to sleep so often that her pillow has to be wrung out each morning.

Oh, how Vincent wished he could tell his sisters how unexpected everything was. He wished they could sit down at the table, today, in the sunlight, so that he could tell them everything. Once, a long time ago, before we knew who we were, we thought we wanted to be like everyone else. How lucky to be exactly who we were.

She had assumed life would remain as it was, with nothing daring to change, but all at once it had become an anguished night of bees, of a mad swarm around them, of her sister already wrested away from her, gazing into the world to come that was written in the constellations spinning above them. There was the Winter Triangle, which would fade away by the end of the month, as it always did at this time of year. Franny understood this was how loss began. She had been here before, but then, like anyone else, she had forgotten this is what happened, that things ended when you least expected

Helplessness and anger make for predictable behavior: Children are certain to shove each other and pull hair, teenagers will call each other names and cry, and grown women who are sisters will say words so cruel that each syllable will take on the form of a snake, although such a snake often circles in on itself to eat its own tail once the words are said aloud.

This just means I know you better than you know yourself. But what else is a sister for?

Fruit of the Poisonous Tree, The True Story of Murder in a Small Town, begins on a steamy August night with two teenagers, brother and sister, on an evil mission deep in a rural Michigan forest. For one desperate moment headlights appear on the lonely access road. Will they be found out? Thus the story of one of state’s strangest criminal cases unfolds. Girl breaks up with boyfriend. He turns violent. She disappears without a trace. Then state police investigators set out on what at first looks like a fool’s journey. The story is colored by a bizarre Ouija board death prophesy and the roles of two psychics, a former practicing witch and a handsome young artist who is suspected of Satanism. The canny and elusive suspect taunts police and seems always to be one step ahead of them. When a key witness is daunted by uncharacteristic injuries, a mysterious medium tells him he is the victim of black magic practiced by the suspect’s grandmother. And when, after eight years, the suspect finally is brought to trial, he is represented by a Roman Catholic priest.

Who can you trust if not your sister? Who knows your story better than she?

By the time spring had fully bloomed, he would be flying. He would never be far from the girl who had been born on a snowy day, whose father had come home from the sea so that he could tell her every story he knew, whose sister took her in her arms to read to her, whose mother would teach her all she needed to know.

My boy, look what you’ve accomplished. You and Sadie have rediscovered a way of magic that hasn’t been practiced in millennia. You’ve taken your trainees further in two months than most First Nome initiates would get in two years. You’ve battled gods. You’ve accomplished more than any living magician has—even me, even Michel Desjardins. Trust your instincts. If I were a betting man, my money would be on you and your sister every time. -Amos Kane

Who can you trust if not your sister? Who knows your story better than she?

Magic is the art and practice of moving energies to effect needed or wanted change. Remember that.

She could almost feel each woman's intention through the paper. Ellie Penhaligan, who was so in tune with the earth and the elements that she could disappear into them. Stella Darling, whose suitability was a real no-brainer, especially now that she had opened her own natural healing practice. Stella was the only other person in Avening with formal magic training, and once time had mellowed her, she would be a true mistress of the elements. Nina Bruno, one of the most powerful candidates on her list, a real Charm Sister whose hypnotic personal energy would turn anyone her way. Eve Pruitt, who had no particular powers to speak of, but whose loving and giving energy radiated from her, putting everyone at ease- people magic. Maggie Moreau, who passed so effortlessly between worlds, and she hadn't even hit puberty yet. Her mother Mave- who would have thought Mave would have been interested? But she'd applied all on her own, and sure enough, Autumn had been forced to recognize her great untapped potential. Ana Beckwith, whom Autumn loved like a daughter born of her own womb, and who, whether she realized it or not, had already begun to tap into her ability to move through time. Ginny Emmerling, the lonely warrior who wanted to fight for a new piece of herself. Dottie Davis, the only applicant to understand the Book as a vehicle of spirituality. Charlie Solomon, that budding psychic reporter whom Autumn had all but coerced into settling down in Avening. Sylvie Shigeru, who was only just eighteen and had already made peace with her magic, and done so much to harness it. And last, her sister, Siobhan, who would be a prophet the likes of whom Autumn hadn't seen in many generations. Age wasn't a concern; Maggie and Siobhan wouldn't initiate for another ten years at least, and as for the older women, Dottie and Eve, initiation would change them the way it had changed Autumn so many centuries ago.

Long ago, when the gods were young and Asgard was new, there came a witch from the edge of the worlds. She knew many ancient spells, but she was especially skilled with seid, a magic that allowed one to travel out of body and divine the future. This greatly appealed to Odin, the highest of the Aesir; when he learned of her abilities, he offered to impart upon the witch his knowledge of the runes in exchange for teaching him seid. She was uncertain at first. She’d heard enough about Odin to make her hesitate. But she knew he did not share his secrets lightly, which meant her knowledge of seid must be of great value to him indeed. So she swallowed her suspicions about this grim one-eyed god and accepted his offer. As they practiced seid together, the witch found herself drawn farther down than she’d ever traveled before, where she brushed against a place darker than the beginning of time itself. This place frightened her, and the secrets contained there were great and terrible, so she did not dare go deeper—much to Odin’s displeasure, for the knowledge he sought above all else was hidden there, and it seemed to him that only she could reach it. The witch was also teaching her magic to the Aesir’s rivals, the Vanir, a sister race of gods whose home she had passed through on her way to Asgard. The Vanir could think of naught but gold with which to reward the witch for her services, though she cared little enough for it. But when Odin realized she was traveling between

Part of our fascination with witches is that they are the only female mythic figures with power. These are women who don’t need to be rescued by a prince or a king but, instead, can save themselves—sometimes with the help of a sister.

Again, Burchard’s list of penances is a showcase for these folkloric female figures: Have you prepared the table in your house and set on the table your food and drink, with three knives, that if those three sisters whom past generations and old-time foolishness called the Fates should come, they may take refreshment there?2 According to Burchard, the belief held that once the Fates had eaten from your table, they would help ‘either now or in the future’. The practice he’s referencing seems to relate to a common early medieval tradition of leaving out food for a group of women who travelled by night, and who would bring prosperity in return. Often led by a figure called Satia or Abundia (names meaning ‘Satisfaction’ and ‘Abundance’ in Latin – a set that ‘Holda’ fits right into), or generically referred to as ‘The Good Ladies’, they went to homes at night, consuming the offerings that had been left out for them and bringing good luck in return. It’s worth noting as well that their ‘consumption’ is magical – anything they eat returns untouched in the morning, much like the devoured children and organs consumed by the night-travelling strigas.

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