Best 397 quotes in «witch quotes» category

Son, if you were any farther from fine you'd be in Nebraska.

So, you're the Santa Claus of the magic world with a naughty and nice list?

Spellwork is a form of creation. Manifesting the invisible and the imaginable into real life verifiable forms, through perfectly natural means.

Staring at a world too horrible to comprehend, believing -- by dint of ignorance and innocence -- that beneath this unbearable contract of guilt and blame there is always an older contract that may bind and release in a more salutary way.

Stop looking at my mouth.” His eyes darkened, as she saw his pupils dilate. He mouthed back, just as silently. “What if I don’t want to stop looking at your mouth?

Surface beauty: blond hair, blue eyes" - she was looking at me - "is always easy to recognize. But if someone is braver, stronger, smarter, that's harder to see." - Kendra Hilferty

Surrounded by death and decay rotting from bones to bones, my flesh lays bare the blubbery fat, traverse the land i shall, finding babies to devour, performing rituals of ancient magic, I, the witch of yore… Beware! i wander these places with guile and pure vice, All of you shall be my victims, I, the witch of yore, eternal dweller of internet message boards.

Take me deep into the woods, away from the others and make love to me, Killian, for I cannot bear to be parted from you any longer!” she whispered in his ear.

That’s quite the specific search...'Sadistic Old-Bag-Murdering Witches'—I can’t even begin to imagine what that involves.

That little baggage hath witchcraft in her.

The enemy of her enemy was not necessarily her friend.

That woman's been riding the same broomstick for almost a hundred years.

The evening pulsed with omens gentle to the eyes, and Valentina had a romantic crush on it all, like every good witch should.

The mist enveloped her form. She was lifted into it, then instantly dropped. Swiftly, the mist retreated to the window. It was gone. The old woman lay flat on her back, eyes open and staring; her mouth open, too, unprettily. That was the over-all effect - the utter lack of anything beautiful. ("The Witch")

The man needed USDA Prime tattooed up his flank.

The old crone smiles crookedly and sighs. “There is more to magic than darkness, my dear.

Then what’s changed?” You are the only witch in all of Antebellum who has earned Deasyvla’s trust and fully merged with a dragon. She shrugged. “So?” You, Sanna of Anguis, are now the High Dragonmaster.

The older wounds had long ago taken hold of her body, leaving behind a map of her biggest victories.

The one who's afraid has already lost.

The Neo-Pagan Ten “Commandments” 1. Thou art God/dess. 2. As above, so below; as within so without. 3. Spirit abides in all things; words & names have power. 4. Maintain an attitude of gratitude (walk the talk). 5. Honor the ancestors, teachers, elders, and leaders. 6. All life is sacred. 7. All acts of love and pleasure are sacred. 8. Whatever you send out returns threefold. 9. Love is the law, love under will. 10. For the greatest good, an’ it harm none.

Then she’d straightened up and announced in irritation, “I’ve fallen out of time,” before vanishing in a great cloud of smoke.

Then your tail will divide and shrink until it becomes what the people on earth call a pair of shapely legs. But it will hurt; it will feel as if a sharp sword slashed through you. Everyone who sees you will say that you are the most graceful human being they have ever laid eyes on, for you will keep your gliding movement and no dancer will be able to tread as lightly as you. But every step you take will feel as if you were treading upon knife blades so sharp that blood must flow. I am willing to help you, but are you willing to suffer all this?" "Yes," the little mermaid said in a trembling voice, as she thought of the Prince and of gaining a human soul.

The Professor gripped his axe, having pulled it, with some difficulty, from the boy's head.

The spirits made her sick, and I don't just mean the Scotch.

There is a collective force reawakening on the Earth each day: the reawakening of the Witch. Within every woman drawn to the path of witchcraft resides the powerful spirit of the Witch.

There is no such thing as White Magick or Black Magick. If you are participating in magick, you are interfering with the natural order of how life would have developed without your hand in it. You are manipulating reality to suit your own personal needs. Regardless of whether you perceive it as "positive" or "white light", you are manipulating life. If you are afraid of this responsibly or are intimidated by this statement, I encourage you to reexamine your belief structure. Witchcraft requires confidence and courage.

There is nothing more powerful than a witch who knows how to contain her power. Standing comfortably within its mystery and allure.

There’s dark magic there,” Luc warned. “Creatures who like the cold, who like girls who wander into their woods. Whatever you do, don’t let them kiss you.

There was nothing else in the entire universe, nothing but the two of them together. Her curves, his angles. Her light, his darkness. Her softness, his exquisitely aching hardness. Male. Female.

The room flashed brighter still and then gasps filled the room. They were all gathered around Roxy and she was unsure why. She didn’t feel any different, Hadn’t the spell worked ? Roxy opened her mouth to speak and then she heard it…… a purr.

The sun might not rise one day and leave the world in perpetual darkness. The moon might fall to the sea and send an endless tide that floods the earth, or I might simply slip in sheep dung and break my neck! How will Danhoul prevent any of that?

The thing is, I wouldn't believe in them, and I would privately ridicule any idiot who did, except for one thing: I am a witch.

The white man's god is just like the white man. He thinks he is the only god, just like the white man thinks he is the only man. But the only reason he is god instead of Nyame of Chukwu or whoever is because we let him be. We do not fight him. We do not even question him. The white man told us he was the way, and we said yes, but when has the white man ever told us something was good for us and that thing was really good? They say you are an African witch, and so what? So what? Who told them what a witch was?

The truth is that trying to classify something as purely good or purely bad lacks empathy and complex thought. In witchcraft there are no absolutes—nothing is inherently good or bad.

The witch turned this way and that, "I think I've kept my figure, don't you?" she asked Mewster. "Who else would want it?" "Don't be snarky." She batted her eyelashes at her reflection. "I do believe I have my mother's eyes." "Maybe it's time you give them back. Your mother's bee dead since the reign of Oleg the Incontinent.

The Witch film, was one suspensed and good made one, it could be well made with some more victims... But...

The witch is absolutely necessary.

The witch is a dangerous person. Neither his appearance nor his behaviour betray his satanic nature. He does not wear special clothing, he does not have magical instruments. He does not boil potions, does not prepare poisons, does not fall into a trance, and does not perform incantations. He acts by means of the psychic power he was born. Malefaction is a congenital trait of his personality. The fact that he does evil and brings misfortune owes nothing to his predilections. It brings him not special pleasure. He simply is that way.

The witch knew who had killed her and she snatched pieces of time, here and there, from the business of dying, to make her revenge.

The witch was as old as the mulberry tree She lived in the house of a hundred clocks She sold storms and sorrows and calmed the sea And she kept her life in a box.

The woman said something to Roman. He stopped, turned to her, and shook his staff. She crossed her arms. I couldn't see her face, but I read the body language well enough. I shake my magic stick at you!" "Let me tell you what you can do with your stick..."

They began with a winter soup, lovingly cooked in a copper pot with a shinbone left over from Sunday lunch- But the witch brought in a light bouillon, simmered with the sweetest of baby shallots and scented with ginger and lemongrass and served with croutons so crisp and small that they seemed to vanish in her mouth- The mother brought in the second course. Sausages and potato mash; a comforting dish the child always loved, with sticky onion marmalade- But the witch brought in a brace of quail that had been gorged on ripe figs all their lives, now roasted and stuffed with chestnuts and foie gras and served with a coulis of pomegranate- Now the mother was close to despair. She brought dessert: a stout apple pie, made to her mother's recipe. But the witch had made a pièce montée: a pastel-colored sugared dream of almonds, summer fruit, and pastries like a puff of air, all scented with rose and marshmallow cream, and served with a glass of Château d'Yquem-

They came to see Glinda the Good Witch, but after midnight, they found the Wicked Witch of the West and left quaking in fear of flying monkeys.

They say I should stay away from you,” I said. “They said you’re not good for me.” “I’m not,” he said with a wicked smile, “But doesn’t that make it even more fun?

This is, indeed, a place where magic happens…

They took form in a bedroom, Khloe realized with a scowl. He noticed and gave her a sideways grin. Arrogant ass. Laugh it up, demon.

The third encounter came towards the end of the afternoon when Sophie had worked her way quite high into the hills. A countryman came whistling down the lane towards her. A shepherd, Sophie thought, going home after seeing to his sheep. He was a well set up young fellow of forty or so. "Gracious!" Sophie said to herself. "This morning I'd have seen him as an old man. How one's point of view does alter!" When the shepherd saw Sophie mumbling to herself, he moved rather carefully over to the other side of the lane and called out with great heartiness, "Good evening to you, Mother! Where are you off to?" "Mother?" said Sophie. "I'm not your mother, young man!" "A manner of speaking," the shepherd said, edging along against the opposite hedge. "I was only meaning a polite inquiry, seeing you walking into the hills at the end of the day. You won't get down into Upper Folding before nightfall, will you?" Sophie had not considered this. She stood in the road and thought about it. "It doesn't matter really," she said, half to herself. "You can't be fussy when you're off to seek your fortune." "Can't you indeed, Mother?" said the shepherd. He had now edged himself downhill of Sophie and seemed to feel better for it. "Then I wish you luck, Mother, provided your fortune don't have nothing to do with charming folks' cattle." And he took off down the road in great strides, almost running, but not quite. Sophie stared after him indignantly. "He thought I was a witch!" she said to her stick. She had half a mind to scare the shepherd by shouting nasty things after him, but that seemed a little unkind.

Those that can heal can harm; those that can cure can kill.

Though as Jack Parsons says, witchcraft is the oldest religion, that it lifts us out of ourselves and switches our bristling skin, the fact is, that witchcraft arises from the world. It comes from the land, the people, the plants, the animals, the whole web of life. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise. Witchcraft is here in the present time.

Three hundred years ago people believed in the devil. They believed if an incident could not be explained, then the cause was something wicked, and that cause was often a woman who was said to be a witch. Women who did as they pleased, women with propriety, women who had enemies, women who took lovers, women who knew about the mysteries of childbirth, all were suspect (…)