Best 650 quotes in «witches quotes» category

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    Go do your thing, magic girl.

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    Good God, the lad is a lass!

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    Gossiping's part of witchcraft,' said Tiffany. 'They're checking to see if they've gone batty yet.

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    Granny looked up at the zombie. He was - or, technically, had been - a tall, handsome man. He still was, only now he looked like someone who had walked through a room full of cobwebs. 'What's your name, dead man?' she said.

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    Had her ordeal addled her mind? She was on a horse with a wild Highlander going God knew where with men even he did not trust and yet she found it thrilling!

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    Have patience, Aylin, this is only the beginning. I can give you this answer to your question, though. There are more than faeries and witches in these woods." -Finn

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    Have you ever met a dragon that couldn't talk?

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    Have you taught her to kill, Priest? Can you teach her such a thing? She's so wise in her innocence, so innocent in her wisdom.

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    Heat radiated from him, penetrating her like the sun warming her on hot midsummer days. It coiled inside her, low in her belly, and sank lower. She recognized it, the magic between lovers. Intoxicating and intense. An all-consuming attraction. The air between them shimmered with energy, an irresistible force connecting them.

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    He came outta nowhere, and he was like Jackie Chan or something. I mean, I never saw anybody fight like that.

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    He clamped her to himself with one powerful arm and devoured her mouth. His other hand rubbed her in hard circles from the back of her slender neck to the tops of her thighs, grasping, gripping, kneading. Memorizing her shape by touch and pressing her soft curves into his hard planes. He was starved, and his hunger was a live thing. He wanted, needed, everything, all at once. And there was nothing he could do to rein it in.

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    He closed his eyes and softly coaxed her lips to open to him, traced the sensitive corners of her mouth with his tongue, held her close enough to hear her heart beat, and sensed the instant it began to match his. He shared her breath and held it in as if he could keep it there inside him, mingled with his own. He held her gently yet firmly against him, close enough that the scant layer of fabric she wore couldn’t hide the press of her nipples against his chest.

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    He comes with those in his employ, to watch, gathering evidence and confession. His success speaks of a countryside rife with evil, an intemperate plague of witches . . .

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    He didn’t miss them. He didn’t miss any of his life, really, especially the last year. Time had simply been a bookmark. Something that held his place while he waited to finish the story.

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    He groaned and murmured, "If I didn't think I was going to die, I'd have you right here.

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    He kissed me tenderly as my heart thumped out of control. My fingers slipped into his thick, black hair and held tightly. He paused, not wanting to pull away. I didn’t let him. I was going to say goodbye properly. I held tightly, pressing my lips to his, soft at first then hard with desire.

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    He had golden-brown hair, the most vivid baby-blue eyes, and a body that belonged on the cover of Men’s Health magazine. Her gaze roamed over his broad shoulders and down his chest.

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    Hello, Lady Witch," he said, breaking into a brazen grin. "Sorry to see you're laid up again." "Occupational hazard," Lily mumbled...

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    He’ll take from your mind the answer best suited to lead you on, to enthrall you. He’ll weave a web of deceits so thick you won’t see the world through it. He wants your strength and he’ll say what he must say to get it. Break the chain, child! You’re the strongest of them all! Break the chain and he’ll go back to hell for he has no other place to go in all the wide world to find strength like yours. Don’t you see? He’s created it. Bred sister to brother, and uncle to niece, and son to mother, yes, that too, when he had to do it, to make an ever more powerful witch, only faltering now and then, and gaining what he lost in one generation by even greater strength in the next. What was the cost of Antha and Deirdre if he could have a Rowan!

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    Hellions to the right, Hellions to the left Hellions to the east the, Hellions to the west, above and below. The pits of hell must be empty by now for they are all here around me.~ Ana BuFaye. “Unholy Pursuit-The Devil On My Trail

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    Her blond hair hung loose, cascading around her shoulders, and stopping over her breasts. She turned toward him, violet eyes meeting his gaze. For a moment, he lost all coherent thought.

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    Her arms reached up to wrap around his neck, holding on as if she would never let go. She kissed him back with an ardor that astonished, gratified, and aroused him all at once, and for a moment, he lost himself in the kiss, and in the woman, thinking to himself, now this, this is magic.

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    Her ankle was screaming like a blonde in a horror flick... Huffing a little, she once more wished that being a witch was lot more like Harry Potter made it out to be and a lot less like being a good cook. This whole situation would be vastly improved if all she had to do was dig her magic wand out of her bag, point it at the security guards chasing her, and shout, "Stupefy!

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    Here you are. Would you like some pickles?” “Pickles gives me the wind something awful.” “In that case—” “Oh, I wasn’t saying no,” Mistress Weatherwax said, taking two large pickled cucumbers.

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    Her eyes scanned the room and spotted her cell phone lying on the coffee table at least three whole feet away from her hands. She groaned. This was when she didn't want to be a witch, she wanted to be a Jedi, so she could use the Force to make her phone fly right into her hand. What the hell, right? Lifting one arm she reached out an open hand toward the small electronic device. Use the Force, Wynn, she thought and had to stifle a slightly punch-drunk giggle. From his seat in the oversized chair, Knox eyed her strangely. After a moment, she gave up and dropped her hand to her side, rolling her head along the sofa cusions to meet her mate's gaze. "What were just doing?" he asked warily. "Using the Force." He looked from her to the table and back again. "Did you do this successfully?" She shook her head and grinned. "The Force is weak with this one. I'll never be a Jedi Master.

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    Her eyes widened, convinced by the size of it that his shaft was fully erect. She blinked several times. No, she was wrong. The bulge moved, growing as she watched it. "Not that I mind ya staring, love, but I've got an appointment I must keep.

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    Her heart and soul had already spoken. They wouldn’t let Lucas go.

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    He roughly grated out, "Don't run from me. Not now. This is for both of us." He held her thighs apart to force her to continue to accept the powerful thrusts. Changing his angle ever so slightly, he hit that one location that turned her world into a starry night. Her body shattered. Muscles ripples, gripped, and clamped down.

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    Her voice. That's what drew me to her. It was gorgeous, perfect, angelic. Ironic, that a demon should be drawn to the voice of an angel.

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    He strolled over to the refrigerator, opened the door with one paw, and delicately picked up a beer between his teeth. He waited until clothes had stopped arcing through the air and hand it to Barbara.

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    He snorted. "He fears you? Why ever would he fear a small girl like you, and his own daughter?" She napped her eyes back up and whispered, "Because, I know of magic." Killian smirked. "Of course you know of magic, everyone knows of magic. We live in Ireland. Everyone knows of fairies and druids, and the like. Magic cannot be disputed, even if the priests do not take kindly to these beliefs." "Aye, but I can do magic.

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    He spoke!" Ivan said, eyes wide. "The dog talked! Oh my god." "An ancient witch you can believe in, but not a talking dragon that looks like a dog?" Chudo-Yudo said, sounding slightly piqued. "Hmph. Young people today have such limited imaginations.

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    He stood back then stripped off his shirt. She let out a gasp then hesitantly put her hand out before pulling back. He took her hand in his then put her palm over his heart. "It's okay, you can touch. You can do anything you want.

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    He thought of his wife, of his son, of his youth. He thought of life. He thought of death and then he thought of life again.

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    He wanted to claim her, to possess her and be possessed, to sink into her soul until neither of them could tell their own being from the other.

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    He took her hand from her head and held it in his. "Your beauty could make a rose blush." "Are you... drunk?

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    He wanted one night with her when he did not have to be on his guard waiting for the Douglases to discover that she was English and a lass; one night when he could sit and talk with her by the fire without another soul in sight; one night when when he did not need to pretend he did not want her.

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    He would’ve sworn the woman was a reincarnation of Holly Golightly, but this wasn’t a Capote novel, no matter her resemblance to Hepburn.

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    he waves settled to soft ripples, and he still hadn’t surfaced. “Isaac?” she swept her arms through the dark water, calling him, but encountered nothing but slimy weeds. Another few seconds and she was in panic mode. She ducked her head beneath the surface and swam down as deep as she could, reaching out in front of her blindly. Suddenly, a strong hand clamped around her ankle. She instinctively kicked and fought her way up for air, gasping as she reached the surface, but he didn’t let go, only shifted his grip to her thighs as he pulled her close and guided her legs around his waist. “That was mean,” she gasped, very aware of every inch of him in physical contact with her. His gaze dipped down to the tops of her breasts showing through the thin fabric of her bra, and his arms tightened around her. “I can’t seem to form thoughts at the moment,” he groaned, pressing a kiss to her mouth before scraping down the side of her neck. “But I’m fairly certain you would take the title for meanness if we were keeping score,” he murmured against her skin. She broke out in goose bumps all the way down to her toes, and it had nothing to do with the chill in the water.

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    Hey, aren’t you that girl from the web?” the new one asked, bending to suck my earing between his teeth. I pulled my head away. “You got the wrong girl.” Mr. Hawaii pulled back to take a better look at me. “No, I think you might be.” To my total bewilderment, he spun me around. “Hey! What are you—?” “Hey, it is you!” he yelled excitedly, drawing the attention of the crowd. “Hey, everyone, it’s Cheeky Galore!

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    His hand came out and captured her by the chin. She froze, finding it hard to breathe as he gently raised her face to meet his gaze.

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    His hand cupped her cheek as he lowered his head to hers. Just before their lips touched, a light knock sounded on the door.

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    His was the gaze of a high-end predator, throwing it's prey a seductive look, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

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    How do I know you’re not the killer?” MeShack asked. A smirk plastered on Zulu’s face. “Because you would’ve been the first victim.

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    However, at 17 years old, I was ready to face any challenge and tackle any obstacles blocking the road to my dreams. I was ready to take on the world. I was unstoppable. Bygones were bygones. The future, however uncertain it might be, awaited me.

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    How old are you?" "Ah that is a good one. I do not know." "Before cars?" "Before trains, before guns. Before people stole the curves from the high clouds and the angles from the flying flocks to build all their little alphabets.

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    Hubert's wife, Mindy, was a tiny powerhouse of a woman with a halo of wild blond hair and eye makeup so complex it took me a while to locate her pupils. She was clearly the brains of the operation, such as she was.

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    Iain MacGregor,” she whispered longingly, looking up. The woods were quiet. Strips of moonlight shone through tree limbs that reached like surreal black fingertips across her vision. A single tear slid down her cheek. She touched her mouth, imagining his kiss. Taking a small pocket knife out of her cargo pants, she looked about. A mystic had once told her that if she left pieces of herself around while she lived, it would expand her haunting territory when she died. Jane wasn’t sure she believed in sideshow magic tricks—or the Old Magick as the mystic had spelled it on her sign. She had no idea what had possessed her to talk to the palm reader and ask about ghosts. Still, just in case, she was leaving her stamp all over the woods. She cut her palm and pressed it to a nearby tree under a branch. Holding the wound to the rough bark stung at first, but then it made her feel better. This forest wouldn’t be a bad eternity. The sound of running feet erupted behind her and she stiffened. No one ever came out here at night. She’d walked the woods hundreds of times. Her mind instantly went to the creepy girl ghosts chanting by the stream. “Whoohoo!” Jane whipped around, startled as a streak of naked flesh sprinted past her. The Scottish voice was met with loud cheers from those who followed him. “Water’s this way, lads, or my name isn’t Raibeart MacGregor, King of the Highlands!” Another naked man dashed through the forest after him. “It smells of freedom.” Jane stayed hidden in the branches, undetected, with her hand pressed to the bark. “Aye, freedom from your proper Cait,” Raibeart answered, his voice coming through the dark where he’d disappeared into the trees. “Murdoch, stop him before he reaches town. Cait will not teleport ya out of jail again,” a third man yelled, not running quite so fast. “Raibeart, ya are goin’ the wrong way!” “Och, Angus, my Cait canna live without me,” Murdoch, the second streaker, answered. “She’ll always come to my rescue.” “I said stop him, Murdoch, we’re new to this place.” Angus skidded to a stop and lifted his jaw, as if sensing he was being watched. He looked in her direction and instantly covered his manhood as his eyes caught Jane’s shocked face in the tree limbs. “Oh, lassie.” “Oh, naked man,” Jane teased before she could stop herself. “That I am,” Angus answered, “but there is an explanation for it.” “I don’t think some things need explained,” Jane said.

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    I am Tersa the Weaver, Tersa the Liar, Tersa the Fool.

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    I believe in witches, Sophia,” his deep voice hypnotized her. “I hope you don’t burn me at the stake,” she murmured to him. “I don’t burn witches. I set them on fire,” Alistair whispered so low Sophia thought she had heard wrong.