The dead didn’t mince words. - Lev Grossman

That was magic for you, right? The thing about magic, the real kind: it didn’t make excuses, and it was never funny.

“A Man, a Plan, a Bacchanal: Anomie,” said Peters, grandly.

To be honest, Quentin felt superior to anybody who still messed around with magic. They could delude themselves if they liked, those self-indulgent magical mandarins, but he’d outgrown that stuff. He wasn’t a magician anymore, he was a man, and a man took responsibility for his actions.