witch

When the time comes, don__ be afraid to open the door, just make sure you choose the right one.

Everything changes, and there__ no denying that. But change isn__ always bad, as long as you hold onto who you truly are, and hold onto each other.

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.

*I don't want the body,* she whimpered. *It hurts.**Not always, sweetheart. Not always. Without the body, how will you hear a bird's song? How will you feel a warm summer rain on your skin? How will you taste nutcakes? How will you walk on a beach at sunset and feel the sand and surf under your... hooves?*

Also, in the dismal Cold Waste, any man treasures illusions, though knowing them almost certainly to be such.

At that instant the hag's noisy breathing stopped and with it all other sound. Her eyes opened, showing only whites - milky ovals infinitely eerie in the dark root-tangle of her sharp features and stringy hair. The gray tip of her tongue traveled like a large maggot around her lips.

Sometimes thought Liir-his first thought in weeks and weeks-sometimes I hate this marvelous land of ours. It's so much like home, and then it holds out on you.

I swear the man could seduce the holy mother!

When she listened to songs that she loved on the radio, something stirred inside her. A liquid ache spread under her skin, and she walked out of the world like a witch.

Then your tail will divide and shrink until it becomes what the people on earth call a pair of shapely legs. But it will hurt; it will feel as if a sharp sword slashed through you. Everyone who sees you will say that you are the most graceful human being they have ever laid eyes on, for you will keep your gliding movement and no dancer will be able to tread as lightly as you. But every step you take will feel as if you were treading upon knife blades so sharp that blood must flow. I am willing to help you, but are you willing to suffer all this?""Yes," the little mermaid said in a trembling voice, as she thought of the Prince and of gaining a human soul.

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.

Witches escape to the forest to listen to the whispers of nature itself...

Staring at a world too horrible to comprehend, believing -- by dint of ignorance and innocence -- that beneath this unbearable contract of guilt and blame there is always an older contract that may bind and release in a more salutary way.

We can see the Divine in each speck of dust, but that doesn't stop us from wiping it away with a wet sponge. The Divine doesn't disappear; it's transformed into the clean surface.

Jagged needle, wicked liesFrom under the skin, pluck evil eyes.Destiny change from pain and coldNow that you pay in blood and soul.

Christ can forgive you," he whispered, though he didn't believe it. There wasn't a hint of compassion in those ice-blue eyes."That's grand," she said.Her features became again those of the pleasant brown-haired nurse. She smiled, pulled the pillow from under his head, and covered his face.

Every woman is a mad ugly bad old witch somewhere in her heart.

Alanna Carrington, head witch of the Philadelphia Coven, hurtled his way, and with her, trouble was a guarantee.