“Yech," said Simon.
"Don't 'yech' me. You're the one with the magical spit.”

“We've strayed into a zone with a high magical index,' he said. 'Don't ask me how. Once upon a time a really powerful magic field must have been generated here, and we're feeling the after-effects.'

Precisely,' said a passing bush.”

“Like it or not,” he said, “you're still his daughter. Run from it, spit on it, that’s your choice. Those of the blood can insult the blood. Nobody else. I won’t allow it.”

“Ever since we had arrived in the United States, my classmates kept asking me about magic carpets.
- They don't exist-I always said. I was wrong. Magic carpets do exist. But they are called library cards.”

“Music is like magic. There's a certain feeling you get when you real and you spit and people are feelin' your shit."”

“Scraps of Magic:
These are little scraps of magic & when you paste them together you get a memory of something fine & strong, she said. Sometimes it takes till you're 40 to see it though.”

“No' is a magical word," he told her. "Here's how it goes. You say, 'Simon, I have an insane, suicidal plan. Would you like to help me carry it out?' And I say, "Why, no.”

“And you can spit-shine your shoes Pittsburgh, you're going dancing with the Lord of Lords, Lord Stanley!”

“It always seemed to me they’re sort of alike,” he said, “magic and music. Spells and tunes. For one thing, you have to get them just exactly right.”

“Be quiet! Anyone can spit in my face, and call me a criminal and a prostitute. But no one has the right to judge my remorse.”