For the rest of the night he sat by himself under the elm-tree. Until this moment it had never seemed to him that his magician ship set him apart from other men. But now he had glimpsed the wrong side of something. He had the eeriest feeling - as if the world were growing older around him, and the best part of existence - laughter, love and innocence - were slipping irrevocably into the past.

— Susanna Clarke

For there was nothing in his eyes but the black night and the cold stars.

— Susanna Clarke

For, though the room was silent, the silence of half a hundred cats is a peculiar thing, like fifty individual silences all piled one on top of another.

— Susanna Clarke

Ha!" cried Dr John contemptuously. "Magic! That is chiefly used for killing Frenchmen, is it not?

— Susanna Clarke

Ha!" he thought. “That will teach me to meddle with magic meant for kings! Morrell is right. Some magic is not meant for ordinary magicians. Presumably John Glass knew what to do with this horrible knowledge. I do not. Should I tell someone? The Duke? He will not thank me for it.

— Susanna Clarke

He had discovered that it was easier – far easier than anyone could have supposed – to make oneself mad, but like all magic it was full of obstacles and frustrations. Even if he succeeded in summoning the fairy (which did not seem very likely), he would be in no condition to talk to him. Every book he had ever read on the subject urged magicians to be on their guard when dealing with fairies. Just when he needed all his wits, he would have scarcely any wits at all.

— Susanna Clarke

He said, "Were he only like his sister—what a difference that would make! For there was never such a sweet and gentle lady! I hear her footsteps, as she goes about the world. I hear the swish-swish-swish of her silken gown and the jingle-jangle of the silver chain about her neck. Her smile is full of comfort and her eyes are kind and happy! How I long to see her!" "Who, sir?" asked Paramore, puzzled. "Why, his sister, John. His sister.

— Susanna Clarke

I am, as far as I can tell, about a month behind Lord Byron. In every town we stop at we discover innkeepers, postillions, officials, burghers, potboys, and all kinds and sorts of ladies whose brains still seem somewhat deranged from their brief exposure to his lordship. And though my companions are careful to tell people that I am that dreadful being, an English magician, I am clearly nothing in comparison to an English poet, and everywhere I go I enjoy the reputation-quite new to me, I assure you-of the quiet, good Englishman, who makes no noise and is no trouble to anyone...

— Susanna Clarke

If I were you, Mr Nacelles," said Childermass, softly, "I would speak more guardedly. You are in the north now. In John Glass's own country. Our towns and cities and abbeys were built by him. Our laws were made by him. He is in our minds and hearts and speech. Were it summer you would see a carpet of tiny flowers beneath every hedgerow, of a bluish-white color. We call them John's Farthings. When the weather is contrary, and we have warm weather in winter, or it rains in summer the country people say that JohnUskglass is in love again and neglects his business. And when we are sure of something we say it is as safe as a pebble in John Glass's pocket.

— Susanna Clarke

I have been quite put out of temper this morning and someone ought to die for it.

— Susanna Clarke