“The trouble is you can shut your eyes but you can’t shut your mind.”
“This I choose to do. If there is a price, this I choose to pay. If it is my death, then I choose to die. Where this takes me, there I choose to go. I choose. This I choose to do.”
“It was lonely on the hill, and cold. And all you could do was keep going. You could scream, cry, and stamp your feet, but apart from making you feel warmer, it wouldn’t do any good. You could say it was unfair, and that was true, but the universe didn’t care because it didn’t know what “fair” meant. That was the big problem about being a witch. It was up to you. It was always up to you.”
“A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest, Granny Weatherwax had once told her, because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her.”
“I’m not superstitious. I’m a witch. Witches aren’t superstitious. We are what people are superstitious of.”
“The librarians were mysterious. It was said they could tell what book you needed just by looking at you, and they could take your voice away with a word.”
“And, as always happens, and happens far too soon, the strange and wonderful becomes a memory and a memory becomes a dream. Tomorrow it's gone.”
“Your own brain ought to have the decency to be on your side!”
“A witch didn't do things because they seemed a good idea at the time! That was practically cackling. You had to deal every day with people who were foolish and lazy and untruthful and downright unpleasant, and you could certainly end up thinking that the world would be considerably improved if you gave them a slap. But you didn't because, as Miss Tick had once explained:
a) it would make the world a better place for only a very short time;
b) it would then make the world a slightly worse place; and
c) you're not supposed to be as stupid as they are.”
“Because no man wants to be a coward in front of a cheese.”
“She folded her arms and then shouted, "Right you thieving scunners! How dare you steal Miss Treason's funeral meats!"
"Oh, waily, waily, it's the foldin' o' the arms, the foooldin' o' the aaaarmss!" cried Daft Wullie, dropping to the ground and trying to cover himself with leaves. Around him Feegles started to wail and cower and Big Yan began to bang his head on the rear wall of the dairy.”
“You had to deal every day with people who were foolish and lazy and untruthful and downright unpleasant, and you could certainly end up thinking that the world would be considerably improved if you gave them a slap.”
“Ach, people are always telling us not to do things" said Rob Anybody, "that's how we ken the most interesting things to do.”
“That's Third Thoughts for you. When a huge rock is going to land on your head, they're the thoughts that think: Is that an igneous rock, such as granite, or is it sandstone?”
“Now he knew: They were real. Who’d make up a thing like this? Okay, one of them was a cheese that rolled around of its own accord, but nobody was perfect.”
“Romancin’ is verra important, ye ken. Basically it’s a way the boy can get close to the girl wi’oot her attackin’ him and scratchin’ his eyes oot.”
“Tiffany got up early and lit the fires. When her mother came down, she was scrubbing the kitchen floor, very hard.
“Er…aren’t you supposed to do that sort of thing by magic, dear?” said her mother, who’d never really got the hang of what witchcraft was all about.
“No, Mum, I’m supposed not to,” said Tiffany, still scrubbing.
“But can’t you just wave your hand and make all the dirt fly away, then?”
“The trouble is getting the magic to understand what dirt is,” said Tiffany, scrubbing hard at a stain. “I heard of a witch over in Escrow who got it wrong and ended up losing the entire floor and her sandals and nearly a toe.”
Mrs. Aching backed away. “I thought you just had to wave your hands about,” she mumbled nervously.
“That works,” said Tiffany, “but only if you wave them about on the floor with a scrubbing brush.”
“They say that there can never be two snowflakes that are exactly alike, but has anyone checked lately?”
“I dinna trust him," said Slightly Mad Angus. "He reads books an' such.”
“There’s no a lot of laughs in an underworld. This one used to be called Limbo, ya ken, ’cause the door was verra low.”
“She sat silently in her rocking chair. Some people are good at talking, but Granny Weatherwax was good at silence. She could sit so quiet and still that
she faded. You forgot she was there. The room became empty.
Tiffany thought of it as the I’m-not-here spell, if it was a spell. She reasoned that everyone had something inside them that told the world they
were there. That was why you could often sense when someone was behind you, even if they were making no sound at all. You were receiving their
Some people had a very strong one. They were the people who got served first in shops. Granny Weatherwax had an I-am-here signal that bounced off the mountains when she wanted it to; when she walked into a forest, all the wolves and bears ran out the other side. She could turn it off, too. She was doing that now. Tiffany was having to concentrate to see her. Most of her mind was telling her that there was no one there at all.”
“To animals they were just the weather, just part of everything.
But humans arose and gave them names, just as people filled the starry sky with heroes and monsters, because this turned them into stories.
And humans loved stories, because once you'd turned things into stories, you could change the stories.”
“Living this long's not as wonderful as people think. I mean, you get the same amount of youth as everyone else, but a great big extra helping of being very old and deaf and creaky.”
“Child. That was a terrible thing to say to anyone who was almost thirteen.”
“And that was fine, except that she didn't have any old friends anymore. Kids back home who'd been friendly were now...respectful, because of the hat. There was a kind of wall, as if she'd grown up and they hadn't. What could they talk about? She'd been to places they couldn't even imagine. Most of them hadn't even been to Twoshirts, which was only half a day away. And this didn't worry them at all. They were going to do the jobs their fathers did, or raise children like their mothers did. And that was fine, Tiffany added hurriedly to herself. But they hadn't decided. It was just happening to them, and they didn't notice.”
“A metaphor is a kind o' lie to help people understand what's true.”
“Aye, Rob, but we canna help noticin' ye also have tae do the Explainin', too,' said Daft Wullie.
There was a general nodding from the crowd. To Feegles, Explaining was a dark art. It was just so HARD.
'Like, when we come back from drinkin', stealin', and fightin', Jeannie gives ye the Pursin' o' the Lips,' Daft Wullie went on.
A moan went up from all the Feegles: 'Ooooh, save us from the Pursin' o' the Lips!'
'An' there's the Foldin' o' the Arms,' said Wullie, because he was even scaring himself.
'Oooooh, waily, waily, waily, the Foldin' o' the Arms!' the Feegles cried, tearing at their hair.
'Not tae mention the Tappin' o' the Feets...' Wullie stopped, not wanting to mention the Tappin' o' the Feets.
'Aargh! Oooooh! No' the Tappin' o' the Feets!' Some of the Feegles started to bang their heads on trees.”
“Blessings be upon this house,' said Granny, but in a voice that suggested that if blessings needed to be taken away, she could do that, too.”
“Stop stealing the funeral meats right now, you wee scuggers!" She shouted.
The Feegles stopped and stared at her. Then Rob Anybody said: "Socks wi'oot feets?”
“Mrs. Earwig (pronounced Ar-wige, at least by Mrs. Earwig) believed in shiny wands, and magical amulets and mystic runes and the power of the stars, while Granny Weatherwax in cups of tea, dry biscuits, washing every morning in cold water and, well...mostly she believed in Granny Weatherwax.”
“who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion &the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,”
“You know how before you buy a house you hire someone to come check it out and write a homebuyer's report? Someone should do that for husbands. Before you get married, you should have a complete inspection to find out what's broken, if it's fixable, and how much it will cost to repair.”
“To read a newspaper is to refrain from reading something worthwhile. [....] The first discipline of education must therefore be to refuse resolutely to feed the mind with canned chatter.”
“The unChristian faith is distressing. So is our culture. Yet to see spiritual resurgence among Mosaics and Busters, I hope our response to this observation is like that of the recipients of Paul’s letter. I hope we put aside casual forms of Christianity, piercing the antagonism of our peers with service and sacrifice. We may think the answer to the perception of our being unChristian is for outsiders to understand our faith. The church is not effective when it calls outsiders to live virtuously, which is never really possible apart from regeneration through Christ anyway. The reprieve from our deep-seated image problem comes when Christ followers become more faithful to a God who has redeemed us and more concerned about a hostile culture in need of the same redemption. 4”
“What uniform can I wear to hide my heavy heart?
It is too heavy. It will always show.
Jacques felt himself growing gloomy again. He was well aware that to live on earth a man must follow its fashions, and hearts were no longer worn.”
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