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.
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.
That was such a wonderful time, even in its strangeness and sadness-and life isn't the same now. It's wonderful, but it isn't the same.
The world was floods above and fire below
Elphaba looked like something between an animal and an Animal, like something more than life but not quite Life.
Not an ugly color, Nanny thought. Just not a human color.
That's all I want- to do no harm.
Then, abrupt and decisive, the Emerald City rose before them. A city of insistence, of blanket declaration. It made no sense, clotting up the horizon, sprouting like a mirage on the characterless plains of central Oz. Glinda hated it from the moment she saw it. Brash upstart of a city.
Evil is an act, not an appetite. How many haven't wanted to slash the throat of some boor across the dining room table? Present company excepted of course. Everyone has the appetite. If you give in to it, it, that act is evil. The appetite is normal.
Oh now that's a blueprint for an impossibly rosy future
The answer of course, is that the clock isn't meant to measure earthly time, but the time of the soul. Redemption and condemnation time. For the soul, each instant is always a minute short of judgment.
There may be no city in the clouds, but dreaming of it can enliven the spirit.
For one short wet month early in the next year the drought lifted. Spring tipped in like green well water frothing at the hedges bubbling at the roadside splashing from the cottage roof in garlands of ivy and stringflower
Okay let's get this over with, no I'm not seasick, yes I've always been green, No I didn't eat grass as a child.
The body apologizes to the soul for its errors, and the soul asks forgiveness for squatting in the body without invitation.
There was much to hate in this world and too much to love.
Galinda didn't often stop to consider whether she believed in what she said or not; the whole point of conversations was flow.
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.
The cunning old cow, thought Melena. She is trying that rarest of strategies, telling the truth, and making it sound plausible.
There were more ways to live than the ones given by one's superiors
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!
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories