Her sister's shoes. They sparkeled even in the darkening afternoon. They sparkeled like yellow diamonds, and embers of blood and thorny stars.
Her sister's shoes. They sparkeled even in the darkening afternoon. They sparkeled like yellow diamonds, and embers of blood and thorny stars.
One never learns 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?
The devil is a very big angel, but a very little man.
They moved together, blue diamonds on a green field.
His avenging angel had come to call him home. A suicide was waiting for him back in his own world, and by now he ought to have learned enough to get through it successfully.
People always did like to talk, didn't they? That's why I call myself a witch now: the Wicked Witch of the West, if you want the full glory of it. As long as people are going to call you a lunatic anyway, why not get the benefit of it? It liberates you from convention.
The melody faded like a rainbow after a storm, or like winds calming down at last; and what was left was calm, and possibility, and relief.
Those who don't try never look foolish.
I am a forgettable leaf on a tree.
Remember this: Nothing is written in the stars. Not these stars, nor any others. No one controls your destiny.
The moon passed overhead in its path from the Vinkus, and she felt its accusatory spotlight, and moved back from the tall windows.
We stand at a crossroads. Idolatry looms. Traditional values in jeopardy. Truth under siege and virtue abandoned.
I don't like work like that. I am the silent partner. I work through events, I live on the sidelines, I dabble in causes and effects, I watch how the misbegotten creatures of this world live their lives.
Science, my dears, is the systematic dissection of nature, to reduce it to working parts that more or less obey universal laws. Sorcery moves in the opposite direction. It doesn't rend, it repairs. It is synthesis rather than analysis. It builds anew rather than revealing the old. In the hands of someone truly skilled,...it is Art.
The moon rose, an opalescent goddess tipping light from her harsh maternal scimitar.
Well, the family always was bright, and brightness, as you know, decays brilliantly.
All these last months he had begun to talk about Sarima and the family as if they were ghosts, hiding just around the curve of the spiral staircase in the tower, suppressing giggles at this long, long game of hide-and-seek.
I know you don't want to hear this but someone has to say it! You are out of control! I mean they're just shoes... let it go!
She dropped her shyness like a nightgown, and in the liquid glare of sunlight on old boards she held up her hands-as if, in the terror of the upcoming skirmish, she had at last understood that she was beautiful. In her own way.
The more civilized we become, the more horrendous our entertainments.
When the times are a crucible, when the air is full of crisis, those who are the most themselves are the victims.
And girls need cold anger. They need the cold simmer, the ceaseless grudge, the talent to avoid forgiveness, the side stepping of compromise. They need to know when they say something that they will never back down,ever, ever.
I may not be sure if monsters exist, but I'd rather live my life in doubt than be persuaded by a real experience of one.
She is no longer I, she is too long ago, she is only she...
The nature of the world is to be calm, and enhance and support life, and evil is an absence of the inclination of matter to be at peace.
Where I'm from, we believe in all sorts of things that aren't true... we call it history.
And in the cave there lived a wicked old witch. Did she ever some out? Not yet.
I never use the words HUMANIST or HUMANITARIAN, as it seems to me that to be human is to be capable of the most heinous crimes in nature.
She watched the sun bleed water out of the icicle. Warm and cold working together to make an icicle. Warm and cold anger working together to make a fury, a fury worthy enough to use as a weapon against the old things that still needed fighting.
The overdressed traveler betrays more interest in being seen than in seeing, while the true traveler knows that the novel world about her serves as the most appropriate accessory.
Yet who can say how our souls have been stamped by witnessing such a cruel drama? All souls are hostages to their human envelopes, but souls must decay and suffer at such indignity, don't you agree?
Because no retreat from the world can mask what is in your face.
If one could drown in the grass, thought Elphie, that might be the best way to die.
So he stalked her again. Love makes hunters of us all.
The storm dropped a house on her head.
You confuse not speaking with not listening.
But the pinkness and whiteness of underskirts and camisoles, the frilliness of foundation garments, the rustle about the bustle and the fuss about the bust.
In summer moonlight, she was dangerously, inebriatingly magnified.
Some said the original evil was the vacuum caused by the Fairy Queen Lurline leaving us alone here. When goodness removes itself, the space it occupies corrodes and becomes evil and maybe slpits apart and multiplies. So every evil thing is a sign of the absence of deity
The surface of the shoes seemed to pulse with hundreds of reflections and refractions. In the firelight, it was like looking at boiling corpuscles of blood under a magnifying glass.
Cross a man and you struggle, one of you wins, you adjust and go on - or you lie there dead. Cross a woman and the universe is changed, once again, for cold anger requires an eternal vigilance in all matters of slight and offense
It may merely be apocryphal that when the Wizard saw the glass bottle he gasped, and clutched his heart. The story is told in so many ways, depending on who is doing the telling, and what needs to be heard at the time. It is a matter of history, however, that shortly thereafter, the Wizard absconded from the Palace. He left in the way he had first arrived-- a hot-air balloon-- just a few hours before seditious ministers were to lead a Palace revolt and to hold an execution without trial.
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.
The truth isn't a thing of fact or reason. It is simply what everyone agrees on.
Don't wish. Don't Start. Wishing only wounds the heart.
Just follow that one road the whole time!... I hope they don't get lost, I'm so bad at giving directions..
Tell me to mind my own business, tell me to go fuck myself, to piss, off, go on, say it, but don't tell me nothing's wrong.
The wickedness of men is that their power breeds stupidity and blindness.
Doubt was much more energy efficient than conviction.
No one controls your destiny. Even at the very worst - there is always choice.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories