Halloween Motivational Quotes

Pumpkins in October, as fat as the full moon, they sit on our doorstep at night and glow.

Halloween colors, less or more, are pumpkin, witch, and bloody gore.” “You must mean orange, black, and red.” “Indeed, that’s what I said.

Our prevailing system of management has destroyed our people. People are born with intrinsic motivation, self-respect, dignity, curiosity to learn, joy in learning. The forces of destruction begin with toddlers—a prize for the best Halloween costume, grades in school, gold stars—and on up through the university. On the job, people, teams, and divisions are ranked, reward for the top, punishment for the bottom. Management by Objectives, quotas, incentive pay, business plans, put together separately, division by division, cause further loss, unknown and unknowable.

Bat, fly high. Pumpkin, sit. Black cat, cry. Spider, knit. Wicken, chant. Phantom, moan. Mummy, rant. Zombie, groan. Werewolf, howl. Owl, hoot. Goblin, growl. Pirate, loot. Skeleton, Frankenstein, Curse the sun. Poem, rhyme.

Frankenstein. Big oaf by design. The monster pines for romance. But sadly, he cannot dance.

On Hallows Eve, we witches meet to broil and bubble tasty treats like goblin thumbs with venom dip, crisp bat wings, and fried fingertips. We bake the loudest cackle crunch, and brew the thickest quagmire punch. Delicious are the rotting flies when sprinkled over spider pies. And, my oh my, the ogre brains all scrambled up with wolf remains! But what I love the most, it’s true, are festered boils mixed in a stew. They cook up oh so tenderly. It goes quite well with mugwort tea. So don’t be shy; the cauldron’s hot. Jump in! We witches eat a lot!

When I was a youngster, I trick-or-treated. I dressed up in costume, rang doorbells and pleaded. Today I’m a grown up who treats and tricks. I cackle at children and share candy sticks.

What do Halloween creatures eat? Hot spider soup with pumpkin meat and toasted, no-salt, bat-wing chips, served best with Transylvania dips. A thistle-horehound salad mix has added crunch from sun-dried ticks. The plat du jour is hairy beast fried crisp in grimy goblin grease. Now, don’t forget dessert so sweet; try puss-cream pie or candied feet!

Vampire, Share your secret. Turn into a black bat. Quench your thirst before the day dawns. Drink blood.

Black cat, Get off my mat. You bad-luck feline, scat! Don’t come my way, stay where you’re at! Oh, drat.

Treats of hot cocoa, pumpkin pie, and candy corn. Yummy Halloween.

Halloween trickster. Spiders on string. Children in costume. Startle and scream. Halloween treater. Apples on sticks. Caramel. Chocolate. Come, take your pick.

I glanced across the room at Thaddeus seated at a long table within a group of shop keepers, and I contemplated him strongly. My heart leaped in my chest at the mere sight of him. I felt myself overcome. The acts of kindness and sweet attention and gratifying moments of passion afforded me by this man since the day of our marriage were purely pleasing. To be loved was a desirous affair! It was the aim of every beating heart! I nearly cast aside my concerns and allowed myself to be consumed by these agreeable sentiments except for one thing: I could not forget how stripped of power and dignity I had felt that very morning. Thaddeus had essentially commanded me to sit and stay like a dog. And I had heeded my master without so much as a growl! This was not me. No one stayed me. I watched those at the table grow more intensely involved in the details of a trade agreement I cared nothing about. Such business bartering was always selfishly motivated. When it appeared that my husband’s attention was engrossed on a point of aggressive negotiation, I excused myself from the weaving party and slipped out the back door. I turned down the alleyway and hurried to a crumbling chimney flue that was easy enough to climb. Almost immediately, a fit of anxiety gripped at my chest, and I felt as if a war was being waged in my gut—a battle between my desire to protect what harmony existed in my marriage and the selfish want to reclaim an ounce of the independence I had lost. This painful struggle nearly persuaded me to reconsider my childish act of defiance. Why was I stupidly jeopardizing my marriage? For what purpose? To stand upon a rooftop in sheer rebellion? Was I really that needy? That proud? I could hear my husband’s command echoing in my mind—no kind persuasion, but a strict order to keep my feet on the ground. I understood his cautious reasoning, and I didn’t doubt he was acting out of concern for my safety, but I was not some fragile, incapable, defenseless creature in need of a controlling overseer. What irked me most was how my natural defenses had failed me. And the only way I could see to restore my confidence was to prove I had not lost the courage and ability to make my own choices and carry them out. Perhaps this act of defiance was childish, but it was remedial as well.

There’s not a single photo in his home, but countless books. Every kind of motivational or self-help book you could imagine lines the shelves and they’re organized by…Are you kidding me? Alphabetical order of the author’s last name. This guy is a monster who probably runs marathons for fun and passes out nutrition bars on Halloween.