Wisty From Witch Quotes

Son, if you were any farther from fine you'd be in Nebraska. ~ Deborah Blake

night has enveloped, to give me some relief
now invisible are walls of separation, and thy grief

where blood quenches the thirst
disloyalty is faith last and first
is the religion my beloved belongs to

I beckoned, red and black robed lady with a wand
let me take her by the hand
heard of her about sorcery
her powers useless, and witch now about to succumb
from just a gaze of eyes filled with Kohl of Leila

my nights worthless, body breathless
every moment, feeling restless
be silent and hear, hear me, my cries
don't forget the promise you swore
I have lost my childhood over you

don't know, how these years left me alone
sufferings, separation, theft me alone
I never knew how pain excrutiates
sometimes, i enlivened you my dear
Love is a blessing, and not a fear

in a melancholy cloudy day, I mourn
glistening eyes, weeping sky, and heart torn
I gaze from a window in Kashmir
For a moment, condoling the tragedy, sighing
In sombre time, lifeless, as if dying ~ Mirza Sharafat Hussain Beigh

You see, a witch has to have a familiar, some little animal like a cat or a toad. He helps her somehow. When the witch dies the familiar is suppose to die too, but sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, if it's absorbed enough magic, it lives on. Maybe this toad found its way south from Salem, from the days when Cotton Mather was hanging witches. Or maybe Lafitte had a Creole girl who called on the Black Man in the pirate-haven of Barataria. The Gulf is full of ghosts and memories, and one of those ghosts might very well be that of a woman with warlock blood who'd come from Europe a long time ago, and died on the new continent.
And possibly her familiar didn't know the way home. There's not much room for magic in America now, but once there was room.
("Before I Wake ... ") ~ Henry Kuttner

A witch sees through things and around things. A witch sees farther than most, a witch sees things from the other side. A witch knows where she is, who she is and when she is ... ~ Terry Pratchett

Adam leaned down and placed his lips next to her ear. He blew gently on it before he spoke. Mona leaned even closer into him as she listened intently to his words.
"Desdemona."
She moaned at the sound of her name on his lips.
"I need to tell you something." His words were accompanied by warm air caressing her skin.
"Before my time is done, I will watch the light fade from your eyes as you are sent to the hell you so deserve." Though his words promised destruction, the cadence of his voice still held her in a seductive rapture. ~ Quinn Loftis

What I hope is that I don't just become 'Peter from 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe.' I want to try and do something else to be a good actor and a respected actor. ~ William Moseley

The witch-burnings did not take place during the "Dark Ages," as we commonly suppose. They occurred between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries– precisely during and following the Renaissance, that glorious period when, as we are taught, "men's" minds were being freed from bleakness and superstition. While Michelangelo was sculpting and Shakespeare writing, the witches were burning. The whole secular "Enlightenment," in fact, the male professions of doctor, lawyer, judge, artist, all rose from the ashes of the destroyed women's culture. Renaissance men were celebrating naked female beauty in their art, while women's bodies were being tortured and burned by the hundreds of thousands all around them. ~ Monica Sjoo Barbara Mor

And yet, even when all was well, as Shakespeare said, that ends well, did they say 'Hey, Kendra, we understand that you made a noble effort. Why not come to the palace for some champagne sometime?' Noooooo. They're all, 'Get thee from our kingdom, witch, or it's the guillotine." They're lucky I didn't turn them into talking swine. ~ Alex Flinn

After ripping through The Hobbit, I read The Lord of the Rings, and the darkness of that story enveloped me in a way that is impossible to explain. I was THERE, in a very real sense. The fear was palpable in the presence of the black-cloaked Ringwraiths, and I could taste the sulfurous fumes of Mt. Doom. I could smell the sweat of horses and hot leather and hear the clash of battle as I rode with the Rohan on the fields of the Pelennor. I bled and died with the sun-king, Theoden. I rose again with Eowyn's defiance of the Witch King. I soared with the Eagles as they swept the broken and bloody body of Frodo and his companion Samwise the Brave from the smoking crags of the fiery mountain. There has never been such a story, and I don't think there ever shall be again. ~ Steve Bivans

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. ~ Carys Bray

There have been movies like 'Paranormal Activity' or 'Blair Witch Project' in Hollywood that showed you could do movies with little or no money. It doesn't prevent them from creating larger than life spectacles as well. ~ Thomas Bangalter

I don't know how much more you can take."
He laughed. "You're a witch. From a family of witches. My ex-wife is a witch. Apparently literally and figuratively. Plus my kid's a witch. And I am probably some kind of animal shifter. All that, and I'm still upright and functioning. I don't think there's anything you could tell me that would break me at this point. ~ Kristen Painter

But...what makes you Nathan--what makes you so special--is that you are both White Witch and Black Witch, both dark and full of light. That's what I love about you. What I've always loved. And I love you still, Nathan, and I know I always will. But you're changing. And now...now what I fear is that you'll get the amulet and you'll hone the Gifts you took from your father. You'll be invulnerable and you'll kill more people, many, many more people. I fear you won't be able to stop and you'll lose yourself completely. And then I'll come to dread you too. ~ Sally Green

Beauty Sleep

Wake up, princess, time to rise.
Open up your dreamy eyes.
Never mind the prince or kiss.
By no means were you raised for this.
Take the plot back from the witch.
Kick her spindle in the ditch! ~ Jane Yolen

...but it does involve a woman. A beautiful, lying, conniving, voluptuous, sexy as hell, witch of a woman, one who has in an inconceivably short amount of time wormed her way so deeply into my very soul - yes, soul, try though you do to convince yourselves that I have none - and not all the dog-desperate clawing can wrench my being free of her. All night long I dominated her body, only to find myself conquered by her. I battled and battered at her, bathed my seed upon her thighs, drew my breaths from between her breasts and yet I drowned. I bound her, only to find myself thoroughly ensnared. My life is gone! Everything I have worked for…everything that I am has, for the sake of pride, boredom, a fine pair of tits and an ass unparalleled by any other known to man - indeed, on the face of this whole miserable planet! - has been utterly destroyed."

"Women," Jackson commiserated.

"You have no idea. I'm doomed. ~ Penny Alley

I was extremely curious about the alternatives to the kind of life I had been leading, and my friends and I exchanged rumors and scraps of information we dug from official publications. I was struck less by the West's technological developments and high living standards than by the absence of political witch-hunts, the lack of consuming suspicion, the dignity of the individual, and the incredible amount of liberty. To me, the ultimate proof of freedom in the West was that there seemed to be so many people there attacking the West and praising China. Almost every other day the front page of Reference, the newspaper which carded foreign press items, would feature some eulogy of Mao and the Cultural Revolution. At first I was angered by these, but they soon made me see how tolerant another society could be. I realized that this was the kind of society I wanted to live in: where people were allowed to hold different, even outrageous views. I began to see that it was the very tolerance of oppositions, of protesters, that kept the West progressing.

Still, I could not help being irritated by some observations. Once I read an article by a Westerner who came to China to see some old friends, university professors, who told him cheerfully how they had enjoyed being denounced and sent to the back end of beyond, and how much they had relished being reformed. The author concluded that Mao had indeed made the Chinese into 'new people' who would regard what was misery to a Weste ~ Jung Chang

Your Alex.He's selfish too.He could have left you alone, but he didn't. The difference is he's always known the consequences."
"And what are the consequences? What did you see?"
"You really should learn your history better Rowan." She slid the book across the table to me.
The book was open and her finger was pointed to a list of names. I took a deep breath and began to read aloud.
"A list of the accused witches hung at Gallows Hill." I let my eyes wander down until they froze on one name.
"Alexander William Foster." The words sucked the life from me, leaving me limp and broken. My eyes met hers.
"What does this mean?" She pulled the book back and grabbed my hand.
"It means that Alex is from a very different place. A place where is no free will.When they find out what he is, he'll hang for it, Rowan.And they will find out.It's all here. His future is our history.You can't change that." She tapped on the book as she folded the cover closed. I caught a glimpse of the title. The Salem Witch Trials. ~ Tara A. Fuller

I turned around to examine the rest of my temporary prison, and saw an enormous golden eye staring at me, less than ten feet away from where I stood.
I did what any sensible witch would do in my circumstance. I screamed like a scared little girl.
The eye blinked. Once, twice, and then shifted as the dragon turned its head toward me, regarding me with both golden eyes. "I could have eaten you, you know."
I nodded numbly and stammered, "Thank you for not doing that." I knew dragons existed in Faerie, though I'd never seen one before. Dragons are reclusive as a rule and tend to guard their privacy ferociously, so only the overly brave or overly stupid seek them out on purpose. The creature was huge, taking up a good portion of the room with its bulk. Black scales covered its body, and leathery wings were folded against its back. Smoke puffed out of its nostrils for a moment, and my stomach leapt in panic.
"I only eat virgins though."
I stared at the dragon in disbelief, feeling the inexplicable urge to defend my past sexual history. My mouth worked as I struggled to find an appropriate response, and I thought I saw a glint of humor in its golden gaze. ~ Robyn Bachar

Mokona: Please! Fai is about to die! Yûko!
Fai: Y... You... can't... While I'm still ailve... Syaoran-kun's magic still lives. Even half of that power is too much... Nothing... will be able to stop him.
Mokona: Fai!!
Kurogane: *punches hole in wall* Who told you to make that decision now?!
Mokona: No! Kurogane!! *Kurogane grabs Fai by the collar*
Fai: Sorry... *Fai collapses*
Kurogane: Witch... Is there any way to keep him from dying?
Yûko: Yes, there is. ~ CLAMP

What bothered me wasn't so much the girl's obvious flirting, but the fact that Chris hadn't cut it off. I mean, two-hundred-plus messages? Come on!
But my reaction may have been over the top.
"I don't need this shit!" I yelled, storming into the bedroom where he was still asleep. I threw my coffee-lukewarm, fortunately-all over him.
"What? What?" he mumbled, not yet awake.
"Get the hell out!" I screamed.
There were a lot of expletives. As a Navy SEAL, Chris had surely heard worse-even from me-but he was completely caught off guard.
"I'm not hiding anything!" he protested when he realized from my tirade what I was mad about.
I continued to let him have it.
"The kids can hear you," he said finally.
"Good!" I screamed.
On and on-it was a good rant, let me tell you. I completely and totally lost it. Chris got up and left, wisely seeing that as the smart thing to do.
I was still frothing. My dad came in, no doubt wondering why his daughter had turned into the Wicked Witch of the West. I showed him some of the messages.
"Look at this! Look at this!" I shouted, as if my father were Chris's defense attorney. "What do you think of this? Why would he do this?"
"These are no big deal," said my dad.
"It is a big deal. This how it starts."
I was furious. If I hadn't had the one experience with the old girlfriend, maybe I wouldn't have gone so ballistic. In any event, I just saw red. ~ Taya Kyle

You are welcome, most noble Sorceress, to the land of the Munchkins. We are so grateful to you for having killed the Wicked Witch of the East, and for setting our people free from bondage. ~ L. Frank Baum

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. ~ Thomm Quackenbush

Only five minutes later he noticed a dozen crocuses growing round the foot of an old tree- gold and purple and white. Then came a sound even more delicious than the sound of water. Close beside the path they were following, a bird suddenly chirped from the branch of a tree. It was answered by the chuckle of another bird a little further off. And then, as if that had been a signal, there was chattering and chirruping in every direction, and then a moment of full song, and within five minutes the whole wood was ringing with birds' music, and wherever Edmund's eyes turned he saw birds alighting on branches, or sailing overhead or chasing one another or having their little quarrels or tidying up their feathers with their beaks.
"Faster! Faster!" said the Witch.
There was no trace of the fog now. The sky became bluer and bluer, and now there were white clouds hurrying across it from time to time. In the wide glades there were primroses. A light breeze sprang up which scattered drops of moisture from the swaying branches and carried cool, delicious scents against the faces of the travelers. The trees began to come fully alive. The larches and birches were covered with green, the laburnums with gold. Soon the beech trees had put forth their delicate, transparent leaves. As the travelers walked under them the light also became green. A bee buzzed crossed their path. ~ C.S. Lewis

He have his goodness now. God forbid I take it from him! ~ Arthur Miller

she came out - dancing around in a white shirt with nothing underneath, the rosy coins of her nipples visible under the thin fabric - asking for a wood saw and spackle, he'd been jumpy as a jackrabbit sniffing Easter candy. He could have looked in the bedroom when she left to sleep, to go to Brass and Bones, to go wherever sex-witch art-fairies go. She came back every day with packages from the Indian import store, bags from the pagan crystal shop, boxes that smelled like incense and old wood. But he didn't look because deep down he liked the mystery, that a woman had claimed a space in the house he'd designed, made it hers to reveal on her terms. ~ Kira A. Gold

Human, witch, goblin, or whatever, a kiss is what is it is created from. Every moment, every heartache, every breath of fear and passion and longing was all wound up in this one kiss. It was more feeling than any word could express. ~ Cyndi Goodgame

Why are you making that face?" he asked suddenly.

I blinked up at him, caught off guard. I raised my eyebrows, trying to play dumb. "What face?"

It didn't work.

With a fork hanging out of his mouth, he narrowed his dark eyes just the slightest bit. "That one." He gestured toward me with his chin.

I shrugged in an 'I don't know what you're talking about' expression.

"Is there something you want to say?"

There were a hundred things I wanted to tell him on a regular basis, but I knew him too well. He didn't really care if there was something I wanted to say or not. He didn't care if my opinion was different from his or if I thought he should do something differently. He was just reminding me who the boss was.

AKA not me.

Asswipe.

"Me?" I blinked. "Nope."

He gave me a lazy glare before his eyes lowered to focus on the hand I had hidden on the other side of the kitchen island. "Then quit flipping me off. I'm not changing my mind about the signing," he said in a deceptively casual voice.

I pressed my lips together as I dropped my hand. He was a goddamn witch. I swear on my life, he was a freaking witch. A wizard. An oracle. A person with a third eye. Every single time I had ever flipped him off, he'd been aware of it. I didn't think I was that obvious about it either. ~ Mariana Zapata

And then I recalled those mysterious stories about the waxworkers of the middle ages and the public reprobation attached to their trade. Did they not live in cellars, in the eternal twilight propitious for enchantments and apparitions? Their visionary art (who, more than they, evoked a truer image of life?) was closely related to that of magicians: bewitchments were carried out with wax figures, witch trials are full of them, and one particular legend haunted me above all, that of the modeler from Anspach, who slowly squeezed the soul and the life out of his model in order to animate his painted waxwork and then, having finished his work of art, awaited nightfall to go and bury the corpse in the ditch at the city walls. ~ Jean Lorrain

Witch Mildred was invited
to the wondrous Witches' Wobble,
a Halloween festivity
where witches go to gobble.

Her snakeskin invitation read:

Feasting Starts at Eight!
A Grand Buffet (with Skunk Filet!)

Hopping on her broomstick,
She took off from a thicket.
She raced along the back roads
to dodge a speeding ticket.

A skeleton soon hailed her.
(His bones could use some meat!)
He pled, "Please! I'm so hungry,
I rattle head to feet."

A jack-o'-lantern hollered,
"Please take me from this wall,
for some, I dread, might use my head
as a soccer ball."

Soon the three encountered
a ghost who was in tears.
"Please take me from this graveyard.
It's much too spooky here."

A shaky, quaky mummy
called, "I'm ready to collapse.
Please find me a warm hearthside,
for I forgot my wraps!"

A bat swooped down upon them.
He squeaked, "Please wait for me!
I'll go batty when the sexton bongs
the bells in my belfry."

A black cat yowled,
"Please take me.
I need some company,
for when I cross their pathways,
people run from me! ~ Elizabeth Spurr

A wise witch knows the shadows come from the light. ~ Dacha Avelin

I thought of the words the old witch had used to summon the sword on previous occasions. While stepping backwards with the intent of putting the table between Thaddeus and myself, I voiced the spell aloud.

"Grim dettarias, ee Duvalla swen areir!"

My trusted weapon appeared from out of nowhere, the hilt grasped tight within my fingers. Without delay, I pointed the tip of the blade at my enemy.

"Move away from the door and let me leave this place."

"Oh, Catherine…"

"Don't breathe that wicked name again!" I angrily ordered. Thaddeus closed his mouth, and his eyes scrunched the slightest bit, never shifting from me.

"I'll cut out your tongue if you mutter that awful name one more time," I threatened. I interpreted his frown as a sign that he believed I would make every effort to carry out that threat.

Using the sword as an extension of my arm, I gestured with a flick of the wrist, signaling for the swine standing between me and freedom to move aside and clear the exit. He failed to comply. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Surrounded by death and decay
rotting from bones to bones,
my flesh lays bare the blubbery fat,
traverse the land i shall,
finding babies to devour,
performing rituals of ancient magic,
I, the witch of yore…
Beware! i wander these places with guile and pure vice,
All of you shall be my victims,
I, the witch of yore,
eternal dweller of internet message boards. ~ Daphne Fissel

Manon found herself walking toward the wyvern, and stopped with not five feet between them. "He's mine," Manon said, taking in the scars, the limp, the burning life in those eyes. The witch and the wyvern looked at each other for a moment that lasted for a heartbeat, that lasted for eternity. "You're mine," Manon said to him. The wyvern blinked at her, Titus's blood still dripping from his cracked and broken teeth, and Manon had the feeling that he had come to the same decision. Perhaps he had known long before tonight, and his fight with Titus hadn't been so much about survival as it had been a challenge to claim her. As his rider. As his mistress. As his. ~ Sarah J. Maas

The Tanakee are thought to possess strange, almost supernatural powers.Their eyes are described as large and hypnotic. From Tribe of the Teddy Bear ~ J. Joseph Wright

Ghislaine didn't look up from the book she was poring over. There was a stack of them on the desk before her, and another beside the narrow bed. Where the eldest and cleverest of her Thirteen had gotten them from, who she'd likely gutted to steal them, Manon didn't care. "Hello, and come right in, why don't you" was the response. Manon leaned against the door and crossed her arms. Only with books, only when reading, was Ghislaine so snappish. On the battlefield, in the air, the dark-skinned witch was quiet, easy to command. A solid soldier, made more valuable by her razor-sharp intelligence, which had earned her the spot among the Thirteen. ~ Sarah J. Maas

What is so often said about the solders of the 20th century is that they fought to make us free. Which is a wonderful sentiment and one witch should evoke tremendous gratitude if in fact there was a shred of truth in that statement but, it's not true. It's not even close to true in fact it's the opposite of truth.

There's this myth around that people believe that the way to honor deaths of so many of millions of people; that the way to honor is to say that we achieved some tangible, positive, good, out of their death's. That's how we are supposed to honor their deaths. We can try and rescue some positive and forward momentum of human progress, of human virtue from these hundreds of millions of death's but we don't do it by pretending that they'd died to set us free because we are less free; far less free now then we were before these slaughters began. These people did not die to set us free. They did not die fighting any enemy other than the ones that the previous deaths created.

The beginning of wisdom is to call things by their proper names. Solders are paid killers, and I say this with a great degree of sympathy to young men and women who are suckered into a life of evil through propaganda and the labeling of heroic to a man in costume who kills for money and the life of honor is accepting ordered killings for money, prestige, and pensions. We create the possibility of moral choice by communicating truth about ethics to people. That to me is where ~ Stefan Molyneux

Under the twinkling trees was a table covered with Guatemalan fabric, roses in juice jars, wax rose candles from Tijuana and plates of food - Weetzie's Vegetable Love-Rice, My Secret Agent Lover Man's guacamole, Dirk's homemade pizza, Duck's fig and berry salad and Surfer Surprise Protein Punch, Brandy-Lynn's pink macaroni, Coyote's cornmeal cakes, Ping's mushu plum crepes and Valentine's Jamaican plantain pie. Witch Baby's stomach growled but she didn't leave her hiding place. Instead, she listened to the reggae, surf, soul and salsa, tugged at the snarl balls in her hair and snapped pictures of all the couples. ~ Francesca Lia Block

Hitler is all the war-lords and witch-doctors in history rolled into one. Therefore, argues Wells, he is an absurdity, a ghost from the past, a creature doomed to disappear almost immediately. But unfortunately the equation of science with common sense does not really hold good. The aeroplane, which was looked forward to as a civilising influence but in practice has hardly been used except for dropping bombs, is the symbol of that fact. Modern Germany is far more scientific than England, and far more barbarous. Much of what Wells has imagined and worked for is physically there in Nazi Germany. The order, the planning, the State encouragement of science, the steel, the concrete, the aeroplanes, are all there, but all in the service of ideas appropriate to the Stone Age. ~ George Orwell