Great mages have wasted their lives trying to get at the root of magic. It is a futile pursuit, not much fun and occasionally quite hazardous. Because the farther down you go, the bigger and scalier the turtles get, with sharper and sharper beaks. Until eventually they start looking less like turtles and more like dragons.

The process of learning is a nonstop orgy of wonderment.

What was magic, after all, but something that happened at the snap of a finger? Where was the magic in that? It was mumbled words and weird drawings in old books and in the wrong hands it was dangerous as hell, but not one half as dangerous as it could be in the right hands.

Never gets old, does it? Having a secret. You have magic. They don't. Better than money. Better than sex. Well, I guess that one depends.

You can’t make things right by magic. You can only stop making them wrong.