Best 397 quotes in «witch quotes» category

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

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 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.

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.

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

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 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.

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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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?

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

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

This is, indeed, a place where magic happens…

This mundus tenebrosus, this shaddowy world of Mankind, is sunk into Night; there is not a Field without its Spirits, nor a City without its Daemons, and the Lunaticks speak Prophesies while the Wise men fall into the Pitte. We are all in the Dark, one with another. And, as the Inke stains the Paper on which it is spilt and slowly spreads to Blot out the Characters, so the Contagion of darkness and malefaction grows apace until all becomes unrecognizable. Thus it was with the Witches who were tryed by Swimming not long before, since once the Prosecution had commenced no Stop could be put to the raving Women who came forward: the number of Afflicted and Accused began to encrease and, upon Examination, more confess'd themselves guilty of Crimes than were suspected of. And so it went, till the Evil revealed was so great that it threatened to bring all into Confusion. And yet in the way of that Philosophie much cryed up in London and elsewhere, there are those like Sir Chris. who speak only of what is Rational and what is Demonstrated, of Propriety and Plainness. Religion Not Mysterious is their Motto, but if they would wish the Godhead to be Reasonable why was it that when Adam heard that Voice in the Garden he was afraid unto Death? The Mysteries must become easy and familiar, it is said, and it has now reached such a Pitch that there are those who wish to bring their mathematicall Calculations into Morality, viz. the Quantity of Publick Good produced by any Agent is a compound Ratio of his Benevolence and Abilities, and such like Excrement. They build Edifices which they call Systems by laying their Foundacions in the Air and, when they think they are come to sollid Ground, the Building disappears and the Architects tumble down from the Clowds. Men that are fixed upon matter, experiment, secondary causes and the like have forgot there is such a thing in the World which they cannot see nor touch nor measure: it is the Praecipice into which they will surely fall.

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.

Tis just you and me, all alone.” She smiled suggestively. “And there is an inn here before us,” Killian noted. “Just a few steps to the doorway.” She smiled. “They surely have beds.” He grinned.

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 (…)

Tis both a blessing a and a curse to desire a man in a physical manner.

To burn the witch is to admit that magic exists.

To go home, you usually will use that door over there." I looked where Trom gestured and saw empty space. "What door?" I asked. "Oh, sorry. Until you go through your closet door for the first time there won't be a door there." "So then what do I use now?" I asked. "You use that door." I looked and this time what he showed me was a door-only it looked like a pet door. "Is that an oversized pet door?" I asked.

Tori jumped up and shouted, “What? This can’t be real! I don’t believe this! I can't be stuck here. I have a life, a wonderful career that’s really taking off. I just adopted Jett.

To understand how to create change, you must understand the sequence of events it entails. The cycle is as follows: Knowing – Witchcraft – Magic.

We believe that you can bring forth peace by first learning to love and appreciate yourself and your ancestors. We believe that rules are not arbitrary, but made by you in accordance with your own beliefs. We believe in free will. And we believe in magic and the power that it holds! We adhere to the wisdom of our own voice, because we know the greatest gift in the universe is free will—ultimate and omnipotent— bound only by love and ameliorated by the practice of magic".

True Witchcraft is a path of lifelong self-education. NOT initiation.

Truth - although difficult at times - is eventually the path to contentment and peace.

We can’t leave just like that.” Cat was appalled. “Where can we find you if we need you again?” [Baba Yaga] “You can’t. Listen, Little Drear, I hate saying good-byes. I have a good strategy for avoiding them.” “What’s that?” asked Anton. “I eat my guests.

We designate the spirit of the well as 'she' because in most of her personifications she takes a female form, though not invariably. She appears in many guises - ghost, witch, saint, mermaid, fairy, and sometimes in animal form, often as a sacred fish - and her presence permeates well lore, and indeed water lore generally.

Well, I am no village cunning woman, no frightened merry-begot, but a woman born to riches, and educated from the time I can remember, and given all that I could possibly desire. And now in my twenty-second year, already a mother and soon perhaps to be a widow, I rule in this place. I ruled before my mother gave to me all her secrets, and her great familiar, Lasher, and I mean to study this thing, and make use of it, and allow it to enhance my considerable strength.

Well," I ask, leaning over him, "do you wish to stay?" "I do." "And why is that, Cole?" I say, tipping toward him so that our noses nearly brush. "Well," he says with a smile, "the weather's quite nice.

We're three people against a crazed faerie queen merged with a demon who controls an army of gnomes. What could happen?

WEST SALEM ~ October 2011 A sudden vision, fraught with malevolence and darkness, obscured her sight. The face of a menacing figure turned from the shadows of his grisly handiwork and stared at Sorcha. Her muscles tensed. By the Goddess, could he see her? Please! No! She wanted to scream, to run, but the vision ensnared her into the horrific moment like a fly in a spider's web.

~We struggle against the darkness, to forget the voices that compel us, and even the ones that do not. For we are witches, and our struggle is constant. ~

We’ve scrambled for our lives,” she said softly. “Now we have to scramble for our world.

What I say is, if a witch can't look after herself, she's got no business calling herself a witch.

What did she know about the Black Forest? Only what she’d been able to glean from the maps in the library and from Luc’s fairy tales: Castles hidden in glens. Trees as tall as city buildings. Wolves and stags and bears. Mad princes who drowned in lakes. None of Mada Vittora’s books described an ancient academy deep in the woods, a place where it always snowed, where girls wanted magic badly enough to die for it.

What? A big boy like you couldn't handle a little distraction?" "Little distraction? You had your hand on my cock and your tongue down my throat. I call that a pretty big distraction.

What do you think about having some orgasms to celebrate?