The eye is always caught by light, but shadows have more to say.— Gregory Maguire
The most delightful Gregory Maguire quotes that are little-known but priceless
As long as people are going to call you lunatic anyway, why not get the benefit of it? It liberates you from convention.
Remember to breathe. It is after all, the secret of life.
From torched skyscrapers, men grew wings.
She watched the sun bleed water out of the icicle.
Warm and cold working together to make an icicle. Warm and cold anger working together to make a fury, a fury worthy enough to use as a weapon against the old things that still needed fighting.
If magic was present, it moved under the skin of the world, beneath the ability of human eyes to catch sight of it.
I know you don't want to hear this but someone has to say it! You are out of control! I mean they're just shoes... let it go!
The world rarely shrieks its meaning at you.
It whispers, in private languages and obscure modalities, in arcane and quixotic imagery, through symbol systems in which every element has multiple meanings determined by juxtaposition.
Growth and change were viewed as reactions to conditions met
Waking up was a daily cruelty, an affront, and she avoided it by not sleeping.
quoting reminds me there are other people in the world besides only me.
And other thoughts besides mine, and other ways of thinking.
Okay let's get this over with, no I'm not seasick, yes I've always been green, No I didn't eat grass as a child.
While I pride myself on trying to be creative in all areas of my life, I have occasionally gone overboard, like the time I decided to bring to a party a salad that I constructed, on a huge rattan platter, to look like a miniature scale model of the Gardens of Babylon.
The body apologizes to the soul for its errors, and the soul asks forgiveness for squatting in the body without invitation.
Science, my dears, is the systematic dissection of nature, to reduce it to working parts that more or less obey universal laws. Sorcery moves in the opposite direction. It doesn't rend, it repairs. It is synthesis rather than analysis. It builds anew rather than revealing the old. In the hands of someone truly skilled,...it is Art.
People who claim that they're evil are usually no worse than the rest of us.
.. It's people who claim that they're good, or any way better than the rest of us, that you have to be wary of.
Before you save anyone else, you have to save yourself.
otherwise, you'rejust a bundle of tics, a stringed puppet manipulated by the chance and the insensible wind.
And girls need cold anger. They need the cold simmer, the ceaseless grudge, the talent to avoid forgiveness, the side stepping of compromise. They need to know when they say something that they will never back down, ever, ever.
Remember this: Nothing is written in the stars.
Not these stars, nor any others. No one controls your destiny.
In summer moonlight, she was dangerously, inebriatingly magnified.
I had written childrens books for 14 years before I published Wicked.
And none of them were poorly reviewed, and none of them sold enough for me to be able to buy a bed.
Just follow that one road the whole time!.
.. I hope they don't get lost, I'm so bad at giving directions.
It appears history is going to keep happening, despite our hopes for retirement.
Yes, I'm nervous. You'll find in time most people are. They simply learn better how to disguise it, and sometimes, if they're wise, how to use their anxiety to serve the public good.
I hate to be obvious," added the Scarecrow, "but you'd have saved yourself a heap of trouble if you weren't too cheap to invest in a leash, Dorothy.
Because no retreat from the world can mask what is in your face.
There was much to hate in this world and too much to love.
Elphaba looked like something between an animal and an Animal, like something more than life but not quite Life.
Behold the male beast roaring in the jungle for his mate," said Elphaba.
"See how the female beast giggles behind a shrub while she organizes her face to say, Pardon dear, did you say something?
One never learns how the witch became wicked, or whether that was the right choice for her~is it ever the right choice? Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil?
They moved together, blue diamonds on a green field.
That's the real power of art, I think. Not to chide but to provoke challenge. Otherwise why bother?
People always did like to talk, didn't they? That's why I call myself a witch now: the Wicked Witch of the West, if you want the full glory of it. As long as people are going to call you a lunatic anyway, why not get the benefit of it? It liberates you from convention.
...but the tale itself is a trickster and doesn't hesitate to lie. It is anachronistic with a vengeance. It emerges always and everywhere, overt or disguised, pureblood or hybrid, and healthy as sin.
It’s the place of the story, beginning here, in the meadow of late summer flowers, thriving before the Atlantic storms drive wet and winter upon them all.
I wouldn't mind leaving myself behind if I could, but I don't know the way out.
Have you ever noticed when you look in a mirror, unless youre really depressed or something, the person in the mirror generally looks a little more competent, a little more curious, a little more intelligent than you actually feel yourself to be? They often look more interesting and more soulful.
She dropped her shyness like a nightgown, and in the liquid glare of sunlight on old boards she held up her hands-as if, in the terror of the upcoming skirmish, she had at last understood that she was beautiful. In her own way.
The wickedness of men is that their power breeds stupidity and blindness.
Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil?
Approval is overrated...Approval and disapproval alike satisfy those who deliver it more than those who receive it. I don't care for approval, and I don't mind doing without.
at least i'm talkng to myself. instead of giving myself the cold shoulder
I am a forgettable leaf on a tree.
Memory is a part of the present. It builds us up inside; it knits our bones to our muscles and keeps our hearts pumping. It is memory that reminds our bodies to work, and memory that reminds our spirits to work to: it keeps us who we are.~Candle
I never use the words HUMANIST or HUMANITARIAN, as it seems to me that to be human is to be capable of the most heinous crimes in nature.
The melody faded like a rainbow after a storm, or like winds calming down at last; and what was left was calm, and possibility, and relief.
All our lives are activity without meaning;
we burrow ratlike into life and we squirm ratlike through it and ratlike we are flung into our graves at the end. Now and then, why shouldn't we hear a voice of prophecy.
Evil is an act, not an appetite. How many haven't wanted to slash the throat of some boor across the dining room table? Present company excepted of course. Everyone has the appetite. If you give in to it, it, that act is evil. The appetite is normal.
Of course. You get everything from books.
Starlight and comet tails burned the tips of endless grass below into hammered silver. Like thousands of tapers in the chapel, just blown out but still glowing. If one could drown in the grass...it might be the best way to die.