“There is nothing else in magic but the wild thought of the bird as it casts itself into the void. There is no creature upon the earth with such potential for magic. Even the least of them may fly straight out of this world and come by chance to the Other Lands. Where does the wind come from that blows upon your face, that fans the pages of your book? Where the harum-scarum magic of small wild creatures meets the magic of Man, where the language of the wind and the rain and the trees can be understood, there we will find the Raven King.”

“Some years ago there was in the city of York a society of magicians. They met upon the third Wednesday of every month and read each other long, dull papers upon the history of English magic.”

“A piece of writing is like a piece of magic. You create something out of nothing.”

“Besides,” said Mr Norrell, “I really have no desire to write reviews of other people's books. Modern publications upon magic are the most pernicious things in the world, full of misinformation and wrong opinions.” “Then sir, you may say so. The ruder you are, the more the editors will be delighted.” “But it is my own opinions which I wish to make better known, not other people's.” “Ah, but, sir,” said Lascelles, “it is precisely by passing judgements upon other people's work and pointing out their errors that readers can be made to understand your own opinions better. It is the easiest thing in the world to turn a review to one's own ends. One only need mention the book once or twice and for the rest of the article one may develop one's theme just as one chuses. It is, I assure you, what every body else does.” “Hmm,” said Mr Norrell thoughtfully, “you may be right. But, no. It would seem as if I were lending support to what ought never to have been published in the first place.”

“The land is all too shallowIt is painted on the skyAnd trembles like the wind-shook rainWhen the Raven King passed by”

“I have no cause to love Mr. Norrell- far from it. But I know this about him: he is a magician first and everything else second- and Jonathan is the same. Books and magic are all either of them really care about.”

“Not long, not long my father saidNot long shall you be oursThe Raven King knows all too wellWhich are the fairest flowers.The priest was all too worldlyThough he prayed and rang his bellThe Raven King three candles litThe priest said it was wellHer arms were all too feebleThough she claimed to love me soThe Raven King stretched out his handShe sighed and let me goThe land is all too shallowIt is painted on the skyAnd trembles like the wind-shook rainWhen the Raven King goes by For always and for alwaysI pray remember meUpon the moors, beneath the starsWith the King’s wild company.”