Best 397 quotes in «witch quotes» category

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Maybe Paula was even Eileen's mùirn beatha dàn

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

Maxey? Do you believe in ghosts?

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.

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.

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

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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’.

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 -

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.

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?

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.

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

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

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 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.

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.

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.

Perhaps you would be better off finding some way to embrace your new nature, instead of fighting it.

Salem has become this... Mecca for Wiccans, but no witches died here. Aside from Tituba, no one practiced anything like witchcraft near here in colonial times. It was a bunch of bored Puritans who thought killing their neighbors at the behest of teenage girls was a fine, Christian form of entertainment and land acquisition.

Quincy laughed. "If I were Elizabeth I shouldn't thank either of you for that comforting diagnosis. Would it do any good to open Aunt Sarai's grave and drive a stake through her? If you believe in as much sorcery as that, you must regret the days of witch-burners, Carew." Carew said quietly, "No. Witch-burners were barbarous blunderers. If I wanted to suppress a dangerous letter, could I do it by burning the envelope and leaving the letter loose? The witch would come back unchanged; I should merely have postponed the danger until another time and place. And have further handicapped myself to meet it, by depriving the witch, by violent death, of the years allotted her, or him, for evolution." Joseph said with dry humor, "She might not have used them for that, Carew. At least not for your idea of it." Carew shrugged. "That would be her responsibility, not mine. And, in any case, she would be that many years nearer the time of her inevitable change." This time Joseph did not answer, only smiled.

Ronan shifted in the saddle, wishing for the thousandth time his heritage had been different. What would life have been like if he hadna been cursed whilst still in the womb? A great deal shorter. His bitter laugh misted in the cooling air of the early evening wood. Born in A.D. 900, the curse had accompanied him through three centuries searching for the one prophesied to set him free... The royal line would die out until the day the young wolf cub discovered how to shift into the form of a man and find the woman possessing three specific qualities: lightness of step, a soothing touch, and sight for the unseen.

Pray to whatever you believe in that they don't send the snakes.

Red hair like yours is unusual in all corners of the world. Other folk have often feared the red-haired as witches, or called them soul-less... But, it's the perfect color for a mage! Red is the color of the Earth itself, and of the fire that burns within it -- and of the blood in our own veins" - Lindel, Ancient Magus Bride, V4

Selene," Cheney cupped my face, "if this is the beginning of a confession, let me assure you I am not naive. You're a beautiful woman, and I have little doubt you have had a lot of boyfriends during our time apart. Please feel free to NEVER tell me about any of them. And if you never utter the name Michael again, it would be much appreciated." His eyes flashed at his name.

Shall we take it slow this time? Maybe I'll make you beg me to let you come." "I don't beg." He laughed wholeheartedly. "We'll see about that.