Best 397 quotes in «witch quotes» category

It sucks. I think you'd make a pretty snake woman, but I'm not really into that kind of girl. Those pointy teeth and slitted nose. Their mindless need to kill..." He shuddered.

It was Jaenelle's voice, but... She was medium height, slender, and fair-skinned. Her gold mane--not quite hair and not quite fur--was brushed up and back from her exotic face and didn't hide the delicately pointed ears. In the center of her forehead was a tiny, spiral horn. A narrow strip of gold fur traced her spine, ending in a small gold and white fawn tail that flicked over her bare buttocks. The legs were human and shapely, but changed below the calf. Instead of feet, she had dainty horse's hooves. Her human hands had sheathed claws like a cat's. As she shifted position to slip another shard into place, he saw the small, round breasts, the feminine curve of waist and hips, the dark-gold triangle of hair between her legs. Who...? But he knew. Even before she walked over and looked at him, even before he saw the feral intelligence in those ancient, haunted sapphire eyes, he knew. Terrifying and beautiful. Human and Other. Gentle and violent. Innocent and wise. *I am Witch,* she said, a small, defiant quiver in her voice. *I know.* His voice had a seductive throb in it, a hunger he couldn't control or mask.

It wasn't every day a witch came to see him. Darius deCompostela gave up on the paperwork he'd been trying to fill out and leaned back in his chair. Semantics. Technically, Georgia Clare hadn't come to see him. She'd come to see MacMillian. Most people did, often with barely a sideways glance in his direction. Usually, that chafed. Not this time. For one thing, her reluctance to speak with him didn't seem to have anything to do with, well, him. For another thing, he didn't do witches.

It was so awful! And he kept on looking at me and I knew I must get out of bed or he'd come and touch me. I did, too, but when I got out I wasn't me-I was a little white bunny. And he started out of the room and I had to go with him for fear he'd touch me. It felt so horrid, going out with him and looking back at mother there asleep. "We went into the main part of the house, and one of the big front doors was open, and we went out through it. And then he gave a big jump, and so did I, and it took us clear up into the sky. We couldn't fly, but we kept jumping and jumping. "Sometimes we stayed in the sky a little while, jumping from cloud to cloud, and the moon would get closer and closer and bigger and bigger, and its face would change and get horrible and grin at us until it seemed like its mouth was a mile wide and open, to swallow us up. And then we'd come down again and jump from one cliff to another, and the sea would be roaring down under us, and the waves all grey and cold and moving around and boiling like they were mad or afraid. "We went all over the island and sometimes we jumped over the sea to the mainland and back again; and sometimes I tried to get away and run back to Mother - I thought she'd know me even if I was a bunny - but always, whichever way I turned, the hare was there in front of me, and his teeth were shining. "We kept it up all night, and I was so tired and cold and miserable, and so scared. I didn't know whether he would ever let me go home or whether he would take me to Aunt Sarai. Then finally I did get away and the hare chased me!" She broke off, her voice rising again to a wail. "It was so awful! I ran all over the island, into all sorts of queer little places that I never knew were there before - it seems so different after dark - and finally, when two or three times I'd been so tired that I thought I just couldn't go any farther, before he caught me, I saw the house in front of me and the front door still open and I started to run in, and then I thought - what if they'd planned it that way, and Aunt Sarai had come down from her portrait and was inside there in the dark, waiting for me?

I understand now that magic is not for wickedness, not for the devil, not for those with cruel hearts. It's for hope. For survival. It thrives in the darkness not because it is dark in nature but because the fire shines brightest then.

I understood something then. My sister might be twice the goddess I was, but I was twice the witch. Her crumbling trash could not help me.

I've no plans to couple with anyone other than my new bride for the next century or so, and it feels as though it's takin' a century to get to it!

I want to do everything to you, all at once,” he muttered. “I want to stroke you, fuck you, hold you down, lift you up, pin you, take you. I want you to take me. Lord and Lady, Sophie, I don’t know that I have any gentleness in me tonight.

I will show you a love potion without drug or herb, or any witch's spell; if you wish to be loved, love.

Witch. The word drifted across his mind. We call such women so, because we have no other name.

I wish to know what you are doing here,” he whispered to the unknown woman, drumming his fingers on the road. “And what you might have to do with a stray puck and an enemy Queen.

Love when you can, and fight when you must, but stand together and never give up, not to the enemy, and not on each other.

Listen to the earth, Feel the fire. Allow the power to flow through ye.

Magick happens when you step into who you truly are and embrace that which fulfills your soul.

Mairi was searching for her lost wolf. Ronan shook with a bitter chuckle. Little did the woman know, her lost wolf searched for her.

Magick is not just something you do. Magick is something you ARE.

Maxey? Do you believe in ghosts?

May you never find satisfaction with another woman." "Did you just curse me?

Maybe Paula was even Eileen's mùirn beatha dàn

May your glass always be full, may there always be a roof over your head, and may you dirty sinners be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead.

Me parecía que mi talento iba debilitándose paulatinamente. ¿Por qué no conseguía ser una bruja decente?, me preguntaba en tales ocasiones. ¿Carecía acaso de voluntad, de entusiasmo, de coraje? No me agradaba lo bastante el poder, me decía, ni me desagradaba lo bastante la fatalidad".

Men have dragged us by our hair through the ages, and whether they give us crumbs or bright, shiny rocks, they truly give us nothing at all. If you have not opened your legs for them so that they could drawl out as babies or crawl in as men, they they will leave you to starve like a dog on the street. So now we are done playing the way they want us to play. Now we are moving to music they cannot hear, to a rhythm they cannot understand. They call it madness and we call it truth and find me the magistrate you can trust to judge between the two? Bah. So we dance on, we dance on.

Merry’s mind devolved into chaos. Ideas evaded her. Words chased one another into meaningless jumbles. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the ghastly image of William’s lifeless body twisting in the wind, solidified and held.

Might be the queen messing around again, bloody witch." I spear a bolt through one of them to get their attention. "Wrong witch.

My entire life, I saw myself as the beautiful damsel or the graceful maiden. I was the princess searching for her knight. But with my newfound abilities, I finally discovered that, after all this time, I was the powerful witch.

Most people live their lives laying prostrate before a false god, waiting for a cue to rise. There are no cues, only decisions. Shall I have dessert? Shall I have the best of the wine? Shall I love the person next to me? They can all be brought to your table. Rise, I say, rise and look within to the truth, to the light, and tell it your decision.

My mother knew all the constellations,” Alec said. “That one is Taurus. She said our clan can trace itself to the guardians of Taurus. And since I was born in May, she called me a Taurus from a Taurus clan.

My woman has a wandering eye; Yarrow, thyme and thorn. She eyes the ocean and the sky While stitching sails, forlorn. I got a kiss, and then a tear As she bade me go; But on the waves, my heart's in fear: My woman's in the know.

My thesis is not that we anchor the witch in history, but that we understand that witchcraft is a set of relationships whose rhythm is that of the moon, stars, sun and earth. A witchcraft which adapts to the state of the world as it is, not backing into an imagined past.

My name is Koshka, and this Human person is Jazz. She is the protégé of the Baba Yaga Bella, and I am Bella’s Chudo-Yudo.” “Oh,” said the Dwarf, and doffed his hat, briefly revealing a shiny bald spot before putting it back on again. “Why didn’t you say so?” He scowled. “I thought you were door-to-door salesmen.” “Do you get a lot of that in the Otherworld?” Jazz asked, genuinely interested in the answer. Somehow she hadn’t imagined that would be a problem here. Smythe shook his head. “Not yet. But I’ve heard all about them, and I expect they’ll turn up any day.

One never learns how the witch became wicked, or whether that was the right choice for her- is it ever the right choice? Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil?

Nell was like a witch. Her long silvery hair rolled into a bun on the back of her head, the narrow wooden house on the hillside in Paddington, with its peeling lemon-yellow paint and overgrown garden, the neighborhood cats that followed her everywhere. The way she had of fixing her eyes so straight on you, as if she might be about to cast a spell.

No,” agreed Eldon, laughing as well, “but you always looked out for me. If I was hurt, you took care of me. If I was scared, you held my hand.” Eldon paused nervously: Tobias was looking directly at him and listening with a small, fond smile. “I . . . always felt safest in your arms,” Eldon went on sheepishly. He dropped his eyes to the floor as he whispered, “Nothing has changed.

Not all vampires are created equal.

One of the problems with being a witch is when you ask the universe a question, it generally give you an answer.

Nobody knows, what fate brings with it

Not every winged Creature is considered a bird or a bat. Some wings are made of magic. - Raani York – 2013 -

Not old enough to feel like an adult , really, but old enough to look like one, and to know the distinction between being carefree and careless.

Oberon’s been kidnapped along with one of the werewolves, and that’s why we’re all so upset. We’ll talk more tomorrow, and I promise to answer all your questions if I survive the night,” I said. The widow’s eyebrows raised. “Ye’ve got all these nasty pooches to run around with and ye still might die?” “I’m going to go fight with a god, some demons, and a coven of witches who all want to kill me,” I said, “so it’s a distinct possibility.” “Are y’goin’ t’kill ’em back?” “I’d certainly like to.” “Attaboy,” the widow chuckled. “Off y’go, then. Kill every last one o’ the bastards and call me in the mornin’.

Of course no one accused the old woman of being a witch. But she was foreign. Her words percolated up the tunnel of her throat , espresso-thick and strong. Bad weather had eroded her face. Some believed that the sun had crisped her skin into coriaceous pleats. Others blamed the chaw of a wintry climate. No one knew where she came from, though lots of people privately thought that perhaps she ought to go back.

One never knows how the witch became wicked, or whether that was the right choice for her — is it ever the right choice? Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil? It is the very least question of definitions.

Only one kiss. That was what he had intended. But Ciera’s lips were sweet like the juice of a pomegranate, and her skin under his hands felt like velvet. When she put her arms around him, he deepened the kiss, pulling the pins out of her hair until it cascaded over her shoulders. The tiny jingle of the bits of metal falling to the floor was almost lost in the moan she let out when he moved his lips down her neck, and then he was lost too.

Our ancestors did not separate magick and witchcraft from their daily lives. Witchcraft was more than just a practice, it was a way of life. A way of looking at the physical and spiritual as a collaborative source of manifestation. In this way, Old World Witchcraft honors the all-encompassing lifestyle of the witch. We are in tune with nature, in tune with ourselves and in alignment with our all-knowing inner witch.

Our aim is to become as receptive as the moon, in order that we contain all the reflected solar fire and pour it out as libation, or curses. We listen. We observe. We absorb. We master silence and stillness, stealth. We are able to become ceaseless and undiminished in our giving. It is we who light, tend and extinguish the hearth fires. Fire flows through us and it is we who endure.

Our inner Witch isn't something we acquire. It's already within us. It's something we become ready and willing to experience. Something we realize we ARE.

Our deepest fear is NOT that we are incompetent women. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond physical measure. It is our radiated spiritual strength that most frightens us… And empowers us!

Our place is here, our time is now!" Killian firmly declared.

Out in the stone-pile the toad squatted with its glowing jewel-eyes and, maybe, its memories. I don't know if you'll admit a toad could have memories. But I don't know, either, if you'll admit there was once witchcraft in America. Witchcraft doesn't sound sensible when you think of Pittsburgh and subways and movie houses, but the dark lore didn't start in Pittsburgh or Salem either; it goes away back to dark olive groves in Greece and dim, ancient forests in Brittany and the stone dolmens of Wales. All I'm saying, you understand, is that the toad was there, under its rocks, and inside the shack Pete was stretching on his hard bed like a cat and composing himself to sleep. ("Before I Wake...")

Perhaps we can start counting those kisses once more. I think you owe me a few.

People give flowers as presents because flowers contain the true meaning of love. Anyone tries to possess a flower will have to watch its beauty fading. But if you simply look at a flower on a field, you will keep it forever, because the flower is part of the evening and the sunset and the smell of damp earth and the clouds on the horizon.