Best 650 quotes in «witches quotes» category

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...")

Pain is mostly mind over matter: if you don't mind, it doesn't matter.

People who buy the little jars and boxes aren’t staying. They only want enough to last them while they’re here.” --Ginger the Checkout girl from The Great Northern Coven

People will have their excitements, and a good rousing persecution used to stir things like the burning of Chicago or a Presidential election in our day.

Perhaps I am the only person who, asked whether she were a witch or not, could truthfully say, "I do not know. I do know some very strange things have happened to me, or through me." Lady Alice Rowhedge

Peter,” she whispered. “I don’t suppose this place has a bedroom.” He laughed softly in her ear. “Twelve of them, actually. Which one do you want to use?” She laughed back and bit his neck teasingly. “How about all of them? You just pick where we’ll start.

Please consult your child’s Witch doctor before using this product. Diapers may cause severe allergies, internal bleeding, and irreversible sex change.

Please, let me take you home. You’re drunk.” “I am not.” I shoved him, spilling some kind of delicious poison on him. “Go home and have a wild time with Ms. Scarlet. In the bedroom. With the—” “Okay, you’re starting to talk board game. Let’s go home, babe. I’ll get you into bed.

Poor Amy. I could tell she was suffering. Poor Thing. Life was so tough for the rich, beautiful and magical.

...politics is a game every king must play and secrets are the best defense we have.

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

Puritans don’t laugh—except at the sight of a burning witch.

Properly buried." "Properly kept." "That is the way with witches." "And with all things.

Put those rabid dogs down, Crimson Hunter, that’s an order from your Matriarch.

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.

Quinn knows what I am talking about… Don’t you Quinn?” His blue eyes looked glazed over like he was possessed by a dark entity as he lunged toward the window and growled, “And it looks like you brought some friends!” He turned his head creepily toward me while his eyes continued to glimmer underneath the iridescent lighting.

Quinn would do anything for his son. Including mate the one person he refused to want. Her.

Salem is in part a story of what happens when a set of unanswerable questions meets a set of unquestioned answers.

Raw, freezing magic detonated from her outstretched hand with the sound of a thousand thunderclaps.

Reminder: Dump Brains and Bowels in Hazmat Bin!

Scaoileadh Me.... 'Release me.' That was what he said. No doubt about it. It was in Gaelic, but that was what the voice said. Holy. Crap.

Ray is going to fly you out and the plan is to meet up in two hours." She sighed. "I despise Vamp Air, but I guess it can't be helped. I can't even think about the amount of bugs that will be caught in my teeth over these swamplands." "Well, maybe it would help if you just keep your mouth shut---

Remember the plan?” Hunter asked as they drew closer to their target. Kristen looked at him sceptically. "'Keep quiet and don’t get seen’ is not a very professional plan. Did you have anything else to add?

Scarcely has night arrived to undeceive, unfurling her wings of crepe (wings drained even of the glimmer just now dying in the tree-tops); scarcely has the last glint still dancing on the burnished metal heights of the tall towers ceased to fade, like a still glowing coal in a spent brazier, which whitens gradually beneath the ashes, and soon is indistinguishable from the abandoned hearth, than a fearful murmur rises amongst them, their teeth chatter with despair and rage, they hasten and scatter in their dread, finding witches everywhere, and ghosts. It is night... and Hell will gape once more.

She couldn't take her eyes off him. He had sandy-blond hair and piercingly green eyes. Today he wore a deep-red T-shirt with the word BOUNCER printed across the back. The material pulled tightly over his muscular chest. He was a specimen. But the most striking feature about him was his smile. The man was bewitching, and Sofia knew a thing or two about bewitching.

Serafina, Ava, Ling, and Becca swam inside. Neela followed them, but at the very last second, shield. “I can’t,” she said. “Once I go in, there’s no way out again. This is real. You’re real. All this time, a part of me was hoping you were only a dream.” The witch cocked her head. “Only a dream?” she said mockingly. “Long ago, a great mage dreamed of stealing the gods’ powers. Abbadon was born of that dream. Atlantis died because of it. Now, because of a new dreamer, all the waters of the world may fall. There is nothing more real than a dream.” She nodded at the waters behind Neela. Silt was rising in the distance, a great deal of it. “The merman Traho knows this. He’s coming. If you do not believe me, perhaps he can convince you.

She blinked against the sting of tears. Fury curled in her stomach. She narrowed her eyes, and slapped him. She gritted out "May you never find satisfaction with another woman.

She clambered to the shoreline. Numb and shaken, she began to dress. It wasn’t easy as she fumbled with slick fingers to put dry clothes over wet skin. She instantly regretted her naked swim. She pulled on her long-sleeved white chemise first. She faced the forest, away from her rescuer. He quietly splashed to shore. His lifeblood burned into her back. He wasn’t far behind, but he stopped. She refused to look at him until she was fully clothed, not out of embarrassment of her nudity, but for what had just happened. He released a groan and mumbled under his breath about wet boots. His voice was not one of her father’s soldiers. When she put the last garment on, her brown wool work kirtle, she squeezed out her sopping hair and swept her hands through the knotty mess. She fastened her belt and tied the lacings up the front of the kirtle. Blood returned to her fingertips, and she regained her composure. Belated awareness struck her, and she leaned down and searched through her bag for her dagger. She spun around. She gasped as she saw the man sitting on the stone-covered shoreline, his wet boots off. Confusion and the hint of a scowl filled his strong-featured face. She staggered back, caught her heel on a stone, and fell, dropping the dagger. Dirt and pebbles stuck to her wet hands and feet, and she instinctively scrambled away from him. His glower, iridescent dark blue eyes, and disheveled black hair were not unfamiliar. Staring at her was the man she had seen in her dream – it was the man from the wood.

She'd grown up hearing about epic battles between Guardians and demons, of legendary Wardens and their brave fight to keep the nocturnis at bay. To her, it all had the air of fairy tales, history through the lens of the Brothers Grimm. She listened to the tales the same way she listened to Beowulf, and had the same expectation of ever featuring in one of those famous battles as of facing Grendel's mother in a Scandinavian swamp. Yet here she was, not just fighting the forces of evil but somehow tied to her very own Guardian, acting for all intents and purposes like the Warden she had once dreamed of becoming.

Sheer male interest filled his gaze which was entirely focused on her. She'd never before felt so female, so utterly desirable, so wanton.

She had understood before she had ever dreamed of a city such as this, where every texture, every color, leapt out at you, where every fragrance was a drug, and the air itself was something alive and breathing.

She could feel energy thrumming in the prince’s movements, but it was tightly contained. Everything about him whispered control. Maybe that was the problem, she thought. Too much control made for a rigid heart. Hearts were made to beat steadily, yes, but they were also meant to tremble.

She didn't even want to think of how hellish it would be if all the MacGregors made her feel like this one did, all hot and shaky. She'd have to move to the Arctic Circle before the month was out just to cool off.

She had fire dancing in her eyes as she assaulted him with her serpent's tongue. Tonight she was not his wife but his little sister.

She killed her sons first. Hammering a long fence nail through each of their hearts. Then, taking an ax, she methodically beheaded each one of her brothers-in-law. Going out to the pens, she drove the livestock into the barn, bolting it shut, and while the goat kids and spring lambs panicked and brayed, she put all the buildings to flame.

She looked in the cupboards to get some ideas. "I've got it!" she shrieked. "I'll make Bat Ear Tortillas!

She looked at her best friend as he unraveled the tightly wound cord from his heart and told her what she had been hoping to hear." from the upcoming The Witch of Belle Fleur

She pointed a finger at him. "Smart men don't comment on a woman's eating habits, regardless of how many brownies she can shove in her mouth at one time." He laughed. "In that case, I guess I'm not as smart as you think I am.

She pushed his massive chest, which was as effective as if she pushed granite. "What are you made of, bloody stone?" He chuckled, eyes full of mirth. "Sometimes.

She ran her hand over his head then gripped his hair. "More licking. Less talking.

She's coming,” Isadora whispered. Maximilion's nostrils flared. "Then let her come.

She told me that love has a magic all its own.

She tore her eyes from his abs and gave in to the temptation to look further down. Over his kilt her eyes wandered and stopped, speculating on the promising bulge beneath the blue tartan. "Hope you like what you see...

She was almost forty years old and childless, with a patchwork history of working part-time at various socially acceptable jobs and volunteering at socially acceptable charities. She had spent all her adult life trying to fit into the right-sized box.

She was not the still quiet type. Aphrodites never are.

She was the most dangerous woman he had ever met, and she didn’t yet know a fraction of what she was truly capable of.

She was the one person he’d hoped to avoid as much as possible when he’d taken his place as Sheriff of Maxville. It wasn’t that he disliked her, that was the problem. Despite his better judgment and a glutton for punishment, he still cared too damn much for the woman.

She wielded the ultimate weapon against him, his kryptonite - her touch.

She's magic, Cassandra. A single flower blooming in an endless desert.

She waited for him to go on, but he simply gaped at her, lost for words. "Doc Grey, do you want me?" she asked before she could stop herself. "Vera, I..." He stopped abruptly. "I..."... "I asked you a question." The words came out breathier than she'd intended. She stepped closer, until their bodies were less than an inch apart, and stared up into his gorgeous, honey-brown eyes. He met her gaze, and she saw a spark behind his irises that could only be described with one word: desire.