Wicked Witch Of The West Quotes

People who claim that they're evil are usually no worse than the rest of us... It's people who claim that they're good, or any way better than the rest of us, that you have to be wary of.

Remember this: Nothing is written in the stars. Not these stars, nor any others. No one controls your destiny.

Where I'm from, we believe in all sorts of things that aren't true... we call it history.

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?

So he stalked her again. Love makes hunters of us all.

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.

There was much to hate in this world and too much to love.

You confuse not speaking with not listening.

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.

The body apologizes to the soul for its errors, and the soul asks forgiveness for squatting in the body without invitation.

Because no retreat from the world can mask what is in your face.

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.

No one controls your destiny. Even at the very worst - there is always choice.

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!

The wickedness of men is that their power breeds stupidity and blindness.

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.

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.

I shall pray for your soul,' promised Nessarose. I shall wait for your shoes,' Elphie answered.

Give me something to go on, here. What kind of black magic are we talking? Elphaba,Wicked Witch of the West-type stuff or Slytherin-type stuff?

In summer moonlight, she was dangerously, inebriatingly magnified.

They moved together, blue diamonds on a green field.

Animals are born who they are, accept it, and that is that. They live with greater peace than people do.

There were more ways to live than the ones given by one's superiors

We're like the wicked witch. We promise gingerbread, then eat the little brats alive.

Always the bridesmaid , never the bride." Always the godfather, never the god".

It's unbecoming," she agreed. "A perfect word for my new life. Unbecoming. I who have always been unbecoming am becoming un.

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.

The world unwraps itself to you, again and again as soon as you are ready to see it anew.

But she woke up just then, and in the moonlight covered herself with a blanket. She smiled at him drowsily and called him "Yero, my hero," and that melted his heart.

Going so soon? I wouldn't hear of it. Why my little party's just beginning. ~ Wicked Witch of the West Wizard of Oz

He lingered at the door, and said, 'The Lion wants courage, the Tin Man a heart, and the Scarecrow brains. Dorothy wants to go home. What do you want?'... She couldn't say forgiveness, not to Liir. She started to say 'a soldier,' to make fun of his mooning affections over the guys in uniform. But realizing even as she said it that he would be hurt, she caught herself halfway, and in the end what came out of her mouth surprised them both. She said, 'A soul-' He blinked at her.

Did they look like anyone we know? For example… a cross between Pippi Longstocking and the Wicked Witch of the West would obviously give us Marcie Miller.

Galinda didn't often stop to consider whether she believed in what she said or not; the whole point of conversations was flow.

And of the Witch? In the life of a Witch, there is no "after", in the "ever after" of a Witch there is no "happily"; in the story of a Witch, there is no afterword. Of that part that is beyond the life story, beyond the story of the life, there is-alas, or perhaps thank mercy-no telling. She was dead, dead, and gone, and all that was left of her was the carapace of her reputation for malice.

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

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.

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.

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.

We only have babies when we're young enough not to know how grim life turns out.

She is no longer I, she is too long ago, she is only she...

How poetic you are," she said. "I've a notion that poetry is the highest form of self-deception.

If Donald Trump and the Wicked Witch of the West had a kid, it would be Jayne-Anne. She looks like a librarian with some money and good taste in clothes but underneath the Verace, she's Godzilla with tits.

The more civilized we become, the more horrendous our entertainments.

You're fun to look at," decided Galinda. Boq's face fell. "Fun?" he said. I'd give a lot to achieve fun," Elphaba said. "The best I usually hope for is stirring, and when people say that they're usually referring to digestion-

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?

B-T-W," Heather said. "What's with the death wish?" "What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about provoking the wicked witch of the west. You look old? Are you trying to get us both killed?" "She does look old. Or at least, older than she used to." "It doesn't matter! Two things you never comment on when it comes to girls: their age and their weight. That's male survival 101. Come on!

When the times are a crucible, when the air is full of crisis, those who are the most themselves are the victims.

Wrong takes an awful long time to be proven, in my experience.

This is why you shouldn't fall in love, it blinds you. Love is wicked distraction.

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.

The moon rose, an opalescent goddess tipping light from her harsh maternal scimitar.

The real thing about evil," said the Witch at the doorway, "isn't any of what you said. You figure out one side of it - the human side, say - and the eternal side goes into shadow. Or vice versa. It's like the old saw: What does a dragon in its shell look like? Well no one can ever tell, for as soon as you break the shell to see, the dragon is no longer in its shell. The real disaster of this inquiry is that it is the nature of evil to be secret.

Starlight and comet tails burned the tips of endless grass below into hammered silver. Like thousands of tapers in the chapel, just blown out but still glowing. If one could drown in the grass...it might be the best way to die.

Well, the family always was bright, and brightness, as you know, decays brilliantly.

The truth isn't a thing of fact or reason. It is simply what everyone agrees on.

Elphaba looked like something between an animal and an Animal, like something more than life but not quite Life.

There are two kinds of anger: hot and cold. Boys and girls experience both, but as they grow up the anger separates according to the sex. Boys need hot anger to survive. They need inclination to fight, the drive to sink the knife into the flesh, the energy and initiative of fury. It's a requirement of hunting, of defense, of pride. Maybe of sex too. And girls need cold anger. They need the cold simmer, the ceaseless grudge, the talent to avoid forgiveness, the sidestepping of compromise. They need to know when they say something that they will never back down, ever, ever. It's the compensation for a more limited scope in the world. Cross a man and you struggle, one of you wins, you would 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.

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.

Not an ugly color, Nanny thought. Just not a human color.

Her sister's shoes. They sparkeled even in the darkening afternoon. They sparkeled like yellow diamonds, and embers of blood and thorny stars.

I am a forgettable leaf on a tree.

That's all I want- to do no harm.

However in the world did her skin come green?" Nanny wondered, stupidly, for Melena blanched and Frex reddened, and the baby held her breath as if trying to turn blue to please them all. Nanny had to slap her to make her breath again.

Love makes hunters of us all.

There may be no city in the clouds, but dreaming of it can enliven the spirit.

And in the cave there lived a wicked old witch. Did she ever some out? Not yet.

It's over the garden wall and we're going to see the Wizard, come what may and hell to pay. -Elphaba

It was deliciously pagan.

Just follow that one road the whole time!... I hope they don't get lost, I'm so bad at giving directions..

Or is it just that the world upwraps itself to you, again and again, as soon as you're ready to see it anew?

The devil is a very big angel, but a very little man.

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.

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.

How deeply bound by cords of family anger we all are[...]None of us breaks free.

Oh, everything is gorgeous once it's gone.

If one could drown in the grass, thought Elphie, that might be the best way to die.

Horrors.

You could say that Elphaba brought us together,' said Boq softly. 'I'm closer to her and so I'm closer to you.' Galinda seemed to give up. She leaned her head back on the velvet cushions of the swing and said, 'Boq, you know despite myself I think you're a little sweet. You're a little sweet and you're a little charming and you're a little maddening and you're a little habit-forming.' Boq held his breath. But you're little!' she concluded. 'You're a Munchkin, for god's sake!' He kissed her, he kissed her, he kissed her, little by little by little.

... the decades looked on and didn't notice her passing. They stared from their fixed mounts across at each other and didn't see revolution striding between them, on her way to destiny.

Was it an accident that I saw Fiyero, I wondered, looking at the manager with new eyes, or is it just that world unwraps itself to you again and again as soon as you are ready to see it anew?

We only have babies when we're young enough not to know how grim life turns out. Once we really get the full measure of it--we're slow learners, we women--we dry up in disgust and sensibly halt production.

Doubt was much more energy efficient than conviction.

And in the cave there lived a wicked old witch. Did she ever come out? Not yet.

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.

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.

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.

I like the sound of words, but I don't ever really expect my slow, slanted impression of the world to change by what I read.

Oh now that's a blueprint for an impossibly rosy future

It isn’t hard to find evil in this world. Evil is always more easily imagined than good, somehow.

...I dabble in causes and effects.

It's hard to find evil in this world,' said the Witch. Evil is always more easily imagined than good, somehow.

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.

Behold the male beast roaring in the jungle for his mate," said Elphaba. "See how the female beast giggles behind a shrub while she organizes her face to say, Pardon dear, did you say something?

Such silly things, children -- and so embarrassing -- because they keep changing themselves out of shame, out of a need to be loved or something. While animals are born who they are, accept it, and that is that. They live with greater peace than people do.

Those times are over and gone, and good-riddance to them, too. We were hopelessly high-spirited. Now we're the thick-waisted generation, dragging along our children behind us and carrying our parents on our backs. And we're in charge, while the figures who used to command our respect are wasting away.

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.

Why should I keep myself so safe?” he asked her, but he was almost asking himself. What is there in my life worth preserving? With a good wife back there in the mountains, serviceable as an old spoon, dry in the heart from having been scared of marriage since she was six? With three children so shy of their father, the Prince of the Arjikis, that they will hardly come near him? With a careworn clan moving here, moving there, going through th same disputes, herding the same herds, as thy have done for five hundred years? And me, with a shallow and undirected mind, no artfulness in word or habit, no especial kindness toward the world? What is there that makes my life worth preserving? “I love you,” said Elphaba. “So that’s that then, and that’s it,” he answered her and himself. “And I love you. So I promise to be careful.

What the hell are you doing up there?' So he slipped, of course, because he was startled, and because fate, having been so kind to him as to award him this ecstasy, retributively was going to kill him now. He lost his footing and grabbed for the chimney but missed. Head over thighs he rolled out like a child's toy, smashed into the poking branches of the damn pear tree, which probably saved his life, breaking his fall. He landed with a thud on a bed of lettuces, and the wind was knocked out of him, mortifyingly so, through all available orifices. Oh, brilliant,' said the voice. 'The trees are dropping their fruits early this year.

She would emerge. She always had before. The punishing political climate of Oz had beat her down, dried her up, tossed her away—like a seedling she had drifted, apparently too desiccated ever to take root. But surely the curse was on the land of Oz, not on her. Though Oz had given her a twisted life, hadn’t it also made her capable?

Isn't that the guy you asked me to throw soda on?" Colton's head jerked up. He stared first at Reece, then at me. "You asked him to throw soda on me?" "Of course not. The boy is delirious, That's what happens to children when they're malnourished. They start hallucinating." I put my hand against Reese's forehead as though checking for a temperature. "I'm afraid he has a serious case of it." Colton folded his arms and continued to glare at me. "No, Charlotte, you have a serious case of it, and I'm not talking about malnourishment." Reese stepped away from my temperature check and toward Colton. "She said you wouldn't melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, but you might fizz a little." Reese turned back to me. "He never did fizz." "I'm about to," Colton said. "Just watch for a few more seconds.