Witches Supernatural Quotes

The summer sun bowing out threw slashes of colour between the buildings. London looked big, empty, and lonely. She stood in the doorway, like a cat trying to make up its mind.

What’s “ague?”‘ Raya asked. ‘Malaria.’ Oscar said. ‘Oh, great.’ ‘Hey, you want plague? They got that too.’ Raya ignored the cat.

On the end of my bed. He’s short, round and bald, with a tartan loin cloth, and what looks like a spout on the top of his head,’ Bryony said. ‘You flatter me,’ came the snide male voice. ‘But it’s a valve.

Then Raya saw Rebecca West, the fourteen-year-old who only saved her own life by testifying against her mother, and then she saw her own face reflected in these girls – a swirl of chance, and life and sorrow.

And she was right. No matter how they tried, the two humans, with the cat but without the microchip, couldn’t connect to headquarters. Raya heard a loud popping sound in her mind, like a huge rubber band being snapped, like a glider plane released from a Piper Cub.

Ivy turned. 'He bit you on the neck?' she said, deadpan serious but for her eyes. 'Oh, then it's got to be love. She won't let me bite her neck.

But a slow, deeply satisfied smile came over him, and his breath quickened. 'So softly it starts,' he whispered. 'Foolishly clever and with an unsurvivable trust. It just saved your miserable life, that questionable show of thought, my itchy-witch.' Al’s smile shifted, becoming lighter. 'And now you will live to possibly regret it.

To every question I have ever had, or ever will have, you are the answer.

May your glass always be full, may there always be a roof over your head, and may you dirty sinners be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead.

Where got she her sullen mouth And where her swaying form? Would she live on eggs and apples When the blood of men is warm? (“The Young Witch”)

Come with me And you will find What's been trapped Inside my mind...

But maybe she should turn the other way while I get dressed. Wouldn't want to ruin her for other men. - Dean

Hook up with us and see a quick return on your premiums.' I like it, Sammy. Think we can fit it on a bumper sticker? (Dean)

You can give me detention. Oh, wait, that's right...you aren't the boss of me. So I guess you can just bite me. -Dean

Here is all the invisible world, caught, defined, and calculated. In these books the Devil stands stripped of all his brute disguises. Here are all your familiar spirits-your incubi and succubi; your witches that go by land, by air, and by sea; your wizards of the night and of the day. Have no fear now-we shall find him out and I mean to crush him utterly if he has shown his face!

Serial murder may, in fact, be a much older phenomenon than we realize. The stories and legends that have filtered down about witches and werewolves and vampires may have been a way of explaining outrages so hideous that no one in the small and close-knit towns of Europe and early America could comprehend the perversities we now take for granted. Monsters had to be supernatural creatures. They couldn't be just like us.

Charisma -- the divine force that manifests itself in men and women. The supernatural power we don't need to show to anyone because everyone can see it, even usually insensitive people. But it only happens when we're naked, when we die to the world and are reborn to ourselves

Okay. Well, firstly, Marcel is not my mortal enemy—he is my friend, albeit one who is unaware that I'm trying to sabotage his hold over the supernatural community of the French Quarter, but a friend nonetheless. And secondly, I daggered Elijah in order to gain Marcel's trust. If I had known he would place my brother in the hands of a particularly nasty teenaged witch, I certainly would have weighed my options a bit differently. And thirdly, sister, please.

In his refusal to believe in anything supernatural or inherently evil, he was as unrealistic as an old voodoo queen who sees spirits everywhere.

Magic is a funny term,' she'd say. 'There is nothing supernatural about the earth. As long as you know what does what.

Three hundred years ago people in England were putting witches to death. Was that what you call the 'Rule of Human Nature or Right Conduct?’ But surely the reason we do not execute witches is that we do not believe there are such things. If we did—if we really thought that there were people going about who had sold themselves to the devil and received supernatural powers from him in return and were using these powers to kill their neighbours or drive them mad or bring bad weather—surely we would all agree that if anyone deserved the death penalty, then these filthy quislings did? There is no difference of moral principle here: the difference is simply about matter of fact. It may be a great advance in knowledge not to believe in witches: there is no moral advance in not executing them when you do not think they are there. You would not call a man humane for ceasing to set mousetraps if he did so because he believed there were no mice in the house.

Dear, ye do have a problem.

If I am going to be a monster, the least I could do is be well fed!

Nothing else in the whole wide world matters as much as avenging your sister.

Hey. My life’s not all about weird little creatures pretending to be teddy bears.” From Tribe of the Teddy Bear.

My woman has a wandering eye; Yarrow, thyme and thorn. She eyes the ocean and the sky While stitching sails, forlorn. I got a kiss, and then a tear As she bade me go; But on the waves, my heart's in fear: My woman's in the know.

A piercing screech from above caught my attention. However, it was the arm landing beside me with teeth marks that let me know what was going on. “Can you be a little more careful where you let body parts fall?” - Faith, Witch Devotions

She holds you like a whore in the night, but she'll take your soul and not think twice.

You threw me to the wolves And look what happened. I called out to the Goddess Who worked her golden magic. And then I came back Leading the whole fucking pack.

I believe nothing, and therefore like many who believe nothing, I must make something, and that something is the meaning which I give to my life. The saving of witches, the study of the supernatural, these are my lasting pleasures; they make me forget that I do not know why we are born, or why we die, or why the world is here.

We're everywhere, out there, among you

It's Coke, my man. You really think I'm going to let you pour any more alcohol into your body tonight?

The strongest distinguishing characteristic of humans is their power of denial. I have strength and long life, you have supernatural abilities, daemons have awe-inspiring creativity. Humans can convince themselves up is down and black is white. It’s their special gift.

Selene," Cheney cupped my face, "if this is the beginning of a confession, let me assure you I am not naive. You're a beautiful woman, and I have little doubt you have had a lot of boyfriends during our time apart. Please feel free to NEVER tell me about any of them. And if you never utter the name Michael again, it would be much appreciated." His eyes flashed at his name.

You belong with us, the lost of the lost, the tribe without a home, a tribe of orphans living our abandoned lives amid toys and trinkets, stuffed monkeys and bears. You’re one of us now—the Tribe of the Teddy Bear.” From Tribe of the Teddy Bear

And what is the difference between a paranormal and a supernatural?” He gave me an odd look. “Humor me. Couch, sofa, or divan. The words people use are confusing sometimes. I’m not from around here.” Sam chuckled. “Paranormals are humans with talents or magic—mages and witches. Supernaturals are non-human. Vampires, shifters, the Fae. Make sense?

I never said you had to like it. You have to accept it. No regret.

Henry,that's how you get rid of fleas. You keep them from laying eggs. You go to war with them.

The Tanakee are thought to possess strange, almost supernatural powers.Their eyes are described as large and hypnotic." From Tribe of the Teddy Bear

You sharpened my teeth into points, And cursed when I sank them into your flesh. By the time I realised I could stop biting, I turned around to find I had nothing left.

I’ve always been convinced that women have a supernatural ability to know what’s going on in a man’s soul. They’re all witches.

For a moment she’d shivered in fear, thinking of her great-grandmother’s tales of witches who drank the blood of the innocent on moonless nights.

But I find it necessary to repeat in this particular place that the division into classes, which is so salient a part of modern demonology, had, and has, little significance for primitive man or for the peasant in a comparatively low state of mental development. To such people, spirits of all kinds - fairies, the ghosts of the dead, and even witches and water-kelpies - are all creatures of the supernatural class between which he scarcely differentiates.

It is also significant that the play opens with the objective presence of supernatural forces. The witches are not the figment of someone else’s imagination because there is nobody else present to witness them. They are alone, and therefore they stand alone, utterly independent. We are in the real presence of evil, an evil that really exists whether we like it or not, an evil that is not merely the product of our fetid fetishes or our fevered imaginations. In its formal structure, therefore, Macbeth places us unequivocally in a supernatural cosmos, rendering implausible all materialistic interpretations of the play’s intrinsic meaning.

He knew clearly enough that his imagination was growing traitor to him, and yet at times it seemed the ship he sailed in, his fellow-passengers, the sailors, the wide sea, were all part of a filmy phantasmagoria that hung, scarcely veiling it, between him and a horrible real world. Then the Porroh man, thrusting his diabolical face through that curtain, was the one real and undeniable thing. At that he would get up and touch things, taste something, gnaw something, burn his hand with a match, or run a needle into himself. ("Pollock And The Porrah Man")

The first known prosecution took place in Egypt around 1300 BC, for a crime that would today constitute practicing medicine without a license. (That supernatural medic was male.) Descended from Celtic horned gods and Teutonic folklore, Pan's distant ancestor the devil was not yet on the scene. He arrived with the New Testament, a volume notably free of witches. Nothing in the Bible connects the two, a job that fell, much later, to the church.

Stygorn. A vampire born of one of the ancients whose level of intuition, gift of glamour, strength, and speed was unparalled by any other supernatural. The only one with more power than the Stygorn was a Siphon witch like Jules. Except the Stygorn’s level of power also gave them the ability to evade and/or harm Siphons by stealth.

No one expects to run into a hellhound on their pre-dawn run in the Seattle suburbs, not even me, and I’ve had a long history with the stinky mutts and their master.

I never said you had to like it. You have to accept it. No regret.

the death of another person is perhaps the only genuine supernatural event we ever experience.

So exquisitely perfect was the darkness of the heavens above that one would have difficulty believing it was a prison to the passengers and crew of The Black Witch.

He doesn't have a soul?" she shrieked, horrified. "That explains why he's such a dick," Tree muttered.

I'm not suggesting anything... I'm stating facts. What you conclude from them is your own doing.

Boys eventually turned to men and then their actions, fueled by a childhood of getting away with shit, amplified by ten.

Yeah, but a hellbender never dies. You ever see a dead one?

You can give me detention. Oh, wait, that's right...you aren't the boss of me. So I guess you can just bite me.

Only a small, supernatural figure remained at the scene of the crime.* He did resolve one mystery while in Salem: indeed the devil needs conscious human collusion to work evil.

Education is no barometer for superstition

I think Ken should grow some balls and tell Barbie to piss off," Matt said after Ashley waved an accusing finger in Darren's (leg-puppy) face, then stomped off to a table beside a window.

Can I ask you something?" He placed the chain around her neck. She nodded. "Have you ever wanted something really badly that you know you shouldn't have, yet you can't stop yourself from wanting it?

I am on the third book of the Bible. This one is called Leviticus. I turn the page and read: If anyone curses his father or mother, he must be put to death. That strikes me as pretty extreme. Do they mean curse as in use obscenities toward, or curse as in hire a witch to perform a solemn utterance intended to invoke a supernatural power to inflict harm on them? I can’t help noting the use of the male pronouns. I wonder whether this directive applies to me. Am I subject to a womanly loophole? Whoever wrote this book prioritized men so much, he forgot about the other half of humanity. It seems like I can curse my parents with no repercussions at all.

Witches and I generally don't get along. Druids look at the tapestry of nature and try to make sure the weave of it remains strong, reinforcing the binding amongst all living things and sewing up the threads on the edges that fray and unravel. Witches, on the other hand, often punch holes in the tapestry in the pursuit of personal power, making deals with dark, supernatural forces that want nothing more than to see nature perverted and destroyed.

If she ends up becoming a Lincoln Thorne casualty, I’ll tear you into pieces and fly your body parts to opposite ends of the earth. A jigsaw champion wouldn’t be able to put you back together again, much less all the king’s men.

What’s going on?” Ingrid asked. “Listen, nothing bad today, please.” She pulled a chair out and sat down. Faye stared at her and said the words as quickly as she could. “I’m just going to give it to you straight as I can. Mila is a witch.” Ingrid busted out with a laugh. “I wouldn’t call her that,” she said. “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?” She poured the juice into her glass and took a drink. “What did the brat do this time?” She set her glass down.

The witch theory of causality, and how it was debunked through science, encapsulates the larger trend in the improvement of humanity through the centuries by the gradual replacement of religious supernaturalism with scientific naturalism.

Supernaturals is a broad term used to classify beings that include Elementals and numerous other creatures. Like what? The list is endless. Witches, Demons, Spirits, stuff like that. Wow, I commented dryly. It's like a giant Halloween party isn't it?

Writers like Washington Irving, Charles Brockden Brown, and Nathaniel Hawthorne added uniquely American elements to their horror stories, informed by the early settlers' Puritan faith and fears of indigenous peoples: eerie woods, the devil, and witches. Even today, much of American horror fiction reckons to varying degrees with fears that are tied up in the nation's history, fears of supernatural evil, of the racial other, and of the frightful consequences of the violent past coming home to roost.

I bless your bond with him, Dani my heart," Mom said. "Treat it well, because he will treat you well. The bond of your heart bloomed well before the bond of your blood. There was a reason the Mother paired you together: the two of you as one force could sway the tides of any war.

[Veda:] Twenty years of thinking that vampires and witches and all things supernatural were nothing but a bedtime story: a myth, thought up by ignorant people and told to children to keep them from straying after dark. Now, when it was right in front of her, it still felt like a fairy tale.

the house in horror is often the image of the body, a metaphor for the different aspects of the self, the self with other people and the self alone. the body is generally under attack in horror, and the bedroom - the place for sex, sleeping, and dreaming - is the pace of greatest vulnerability.

Although I like a good scary movie, I’ve never actually believed anything paranormal or supernatural could be real...until today. Magic genies, witch spells, and magic troll dolls with funky bright hair are other ideas that have crossed my mind. It also occurs to me that I may be going crazy, and will have to be committed before I finish high school.

Patrick West.” Nick spoke so quietly the words were hardly more than a soft exhalation. “Student. Swimmer. Fan of lurid supernatural romances, €linore, and BadMadRad. Casual gamer. Admirer of Jaguar, fictional warrior princesses, and soprano witch queens. Lover of historical buildings. Idealist who wants to build cities where people can live well. Owner of strong opinions he never hesitates to defend, no matter how obviously wrong. Quick to laugh. Spontaneous and unselfconscious, except when he thinks too much, or tries too hard. Talks too much, with hardly any filter between the brain and the mouth. Adaptable. Outgoing. Unreserved. Loud. Talented. Whole-hearted. Foolhardy. Stronger than he thinks. Wiser than he seems.

I needed Dani more than I'd ever wanted to admit before, and that stupid patch-job of an ankle bracelet had been hiding the answers this whole time. Dani and I had a connection, an old connection, a fated connection. A bond to span the souls before the earth had been shaped and the dragons placed upon it. I had found my other half--- the half to ground me, the half to protect

It's my opinion he don't want to kill you,' said Perea - 'at least not yet. I've heard deir idea is to scar and worry a man wid deir spells, and narrow misses, and rheumatic pains, and bad dreams, and all dat, until he's sick of life. Of course, it's all talk, you know. You mustn't worry about it. But I wunder what he'll be up to next.' 'I shall have to be up to something first,' said Pollock, staring gloomily at the greasy cards that Perea was putting on the table. 'It don't suit my dignity to be followed about, and shot at, and blighted in this way. I wonder if Porroh hokey-pokey upsets your luck at cards.' He looked at Perea suspiciously. 'Very likely it does,' said Perea warmly, shuffling. 'Dey are wonderful people.' ("Pollock And The Porrah Man")

'A fine story', said Asterinov .... 'Six months in prison, that tale,' said Sergei. 'Was it the witch?', I asked 'I never know where the Party stands on issues of the supernatural...' ..... 'It was, - understand, I do not know for sure, I heard this at second or third hand - it was the walk through the forest. Apparently I was just too convincing in the representation of a poor man's yearning for money...'

Recently, a professor at Penn State told my son Joshua's class that during a trip to Africa, he had a mysterious encounter with a witch doctor of a tribe. He watched with horror as this witch doctor put a man into a trance and made the man put his face into burning coals and move them around with his nose on the ground. The man received no burns and wasn't even aware of the sensation of burning his flesh. The professor, being a committed naturalist, had no way to understand this obviously satanic phenomena. His scientific model didn't include any supernatural cause, whether it be godly or satanic. He admitted this fact to the class. He said that he saw what happened yet he did not believe it, because he couldn't fit it into what he called his scientific model . . . If their presuppositions rule out the supernatural, that is that! There is no more.

But surely the reason we do not execute witches is that we do not believe there are such things. If we did—if we really thought that there were people going about who had sold themselves to the devil and received supernatural powers from him in return and were using these powers to kill their neighbours or drive them mad or bring bad weather—surely we would all agree that if anyone deserved the death penalty, then these filthy quislings did?

My eyes locked on the hand Devin had placed so gently on Thea's. They were a pair, a team. I didn't know their story, but whatever bond had mated them had clearly made a decision that the two of them could live with. A bond, two souls meant to find each other. Was that something I could really have? Reach for? My attention drifted to the dragon sitting next to me in the booth, and under the table I slid my fingers next to his until I could hook my pinky with his.

I have never even seen a witch, let alone felt the need to burn one to death. We can conclude, then, that our forefathers, equipped with the knowledge that supernatural explanations were reasonable, rounded up all the witches in existence and took care of them. The other possibility is that there are witches out there, hiding somewhere, plotting their revenge, liberally applying fireproofing compounds to themselves. And someday they may reappear and start causing trouble.

Are you getting cold?" Ryker asked. I smiled and pulled the blanket tighter around me. "And what if I am?" Ryker gave me a playful grin as he stood from our bed. "I'd have to come warm you up, firecracker." "I don't know..." I teased as I backed away. "You'd have to catch me first!" I jumped as fast as I could, giggling as I tried to run. Too bad Ryker was far faster than me. I laughed as he carried me to our bed. In our perfect house on the mountain. A dragon and a witch. And our happiness.

The doctor from the mainland came and went. Silence settled over the island again, like a displaced curtain falling back in thickened, heavier folds. For there was a different quality in the silence now. It had tasted something, rich food on which it had long been thinly rationed. Shadowy things were trooping up, called by that scent of blood, like flies that smell carrion. They were not strangers to the old house; they had been ill-fed and at a distance, now they were hungry and avid and near.

I really am hungry." I leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I'm hungry for something too." She turned an adorable shade of red and tried to scoot away from me, which wasn't going to happen since I had put my arm around her waist and there was no way she could break my hold. That's when we heard the most unexpected sound. Laughter. I looked up to see the fae in the end booth laughing. She had scooted her book aside and was trying to cover her mouth, but she was laughing. "I'm sorry," she giggled, wiping at the tears in the corner of her eye. "I didn't mean to spy on you guys, but whatever he just did to you reminds me of my mate." She burst into giggles again and her laughter bubbled loudly enough to draw the fae from the kitchen. "Thea, what happened?" The kitchen fae opened the door. "No, nothing. That big one just did something to the witch and it reminded me of Devin.

For example, one man said to me, ‘Three hundred years ago people in England were putting witches to death. Was that what you call the Rule of Human Nature or Right Conduct?’ But surely the reason we do not execute witches is that we do not believe there are such things. If we did—if we really thought that there were people going about who had sold themselves to the devil and received supernatural powers from him in return and were using these powers to kill their neighbours or drive them mad or bring bad weather—surely we would all agree that if anyone deserved the death penalty, then these filthy quislings did? There is no difference of moral principle here: the difference is simply about matter of fact. It may be a great advance in knowledge not to believe in witches: there is no moral advance in not executing them when you do not think they are there. You would not call a man humane for ceasing to set mousetraps if he did so because he believed there were no mice in the house.

And then there was my magic. A wicked smile played across my lips as I thought about it. I couldn't do much yet, but I was rapidly learning the one thing I had taken to like a duck to water: spell circles. I'd gotten enough of a crash course with Max during the battle, and since my blood was practically made to charge spells, I was doing quite well with them. Our mountainside was filled with them now. It had taken me two solid months, but I'd finally encircled the area so that Ryker could freely transform and fly in his dragon shape without seeing him. Well, most anyone; I'm still learning after all. I found if I applied myself I could learn the runes on my own. No Book of Sisters needed, just like Max had said. And apply myself I did. I will never be helpless again. I spent a lot of days practicing while Ryker went hunting. I may not be able to conjure anything, or transform things or curse things. But I could put a set of rules in a spell circle, and with my blood as the active component, my circles were pretty near indestructible now.

But through the ash and darkness I saw him. My dragon. Beautiful, terrible, fierce. The scars of his stories still evident, even in this form. I remembered the ones who'd come before me, those who had also pried open his shuttered heart. The ones who had left him. But I wasn't ready to go yet; I wouldn't leave my dragon in that dark place again to pick up the pieces of his fallen loved ones in isolation. And Ryker wouldn't let me go. "Ryker!" I screamed as I fell. He was enormous, beating his wings and trying to rise up to meet me. One of his wings was a tattered mess, but still he pushed up, his body beginning to shift and change. He shrank and shed his scales, turning back into the human shape I'd known him in but keeping the wings that helped push him to me in a desperate gust. My eyes were flooding, tears falling every which way in the wind as I fell. I stretched out my arms to him, and he reached up and grabbed me. "Dani!" he growled over the wind. I was pulled into his chest, my head tucked under his chin as my hot, wet tears soaked us both. "It's over, he's dead. I told you my fire would never hurt you.

You’re a talking cat?” Endora asked with a look of disbelief on her face. “My, my, my, aren’t you the bright bulb of the bunch,” he replied with a bit of snarky smugness. “Tell me then, bright-bulb, do you suppose that I need your permission to talk just because I’m a cat?” He raised his paw to his face, admiring his newly gnawed manicure. After he observed the last nail, he slapped his paw down on the floorboards, making a low thud sound. “Because I don’t,” he smirked. Endora was taken by surprise at his rudeness. She stared back at him, speechless and not quite sure how to respond. “Are you a magic cat?” Mila busted in with a question that seemed as silly to her as to the cat. He glared and narrowed his eyes at her. “A magic cat,” he said, standing up to arch his furry back. “Is my talking some sort of magic to you? If it is… then I am.” He stretched his back higher and let out a long purr that turned into, “Purrhaps, you four little witchy girls should clearly refine your meaning of magic so you know what it means before you say the word magic.” “I rather am quite fond of talking cats,” Selena said with a big smile. “Of course, you’re the first one I’ve ever seen.” The cat narrowed its eyes tighter. “Indeed,” he said, letting out a yawn as if the whole conversation were a bore. He leapt off the porch and dash away, mumbling and grumbling his way down the corridor. Selena looked over at Endora. “Rude little snot, isn’t he?” she said.

thousand witches?” Marie asked. “That seems…steep.” “A thousand victims. Precious few of them could tell the difference between a supernatural hex and a bad dream brought on by undercooked sausage, I assure you. But when war and disease are on the doorstep and the wolves are circling, people crave simple answers, simple solutions. Life is bad? Find a witch to blame for it. Your life isn’t magically better after you murder her? Well, obviously there are more witches out there. Keep hunting.

One hell of a love spell that witch cast on me.

I couldn't screw this up. How did people build relationships? How was I going to woo this little witch and show him what an amazing connection we could have together?

It seems you are confused,” she whispered against his skin, fingers itching to trace the claw marks etched so deeply into his chest. “You don’t own me. I can wear whatever I want, even if that’s nothing.” This time she did place a hand on his chest and they both flinched at the sudden shock.

On cosmic initiations: "And then everything changed after the strange lights in the night-sky came.

Witchcraft was a diabolic religion that worshipped the Devil, and it was demonic powers that gave Witches their supernatural abilities. This belief was invented from a whole-clothe by a small group of theologians in Switzerland in the fifteenth century and grew to become a kind of pervasive Christian Propaganda.

The mara/mahr/mora and werewolf creatures have to be mentioned in several contexts: first, when referring to general characteristics; second, with the fundaments of the common belief system of the European witch; and also in the context of the conditions for supernatural communication. Mara/ mahr/mora creatures are the characteristic embodiments of double images, as well as of the creatures that have doubles—for example, the seers who are capable of trance. Slav researchers write about the assumed Indo-European relationship between the Germanic maralmahrlmare, the French cauchemar, the southern Slavic moralmuralzmoralmorinalmorava, the eastern Slavic (kiki)mora, the Romanian moroi, and so forth; one probable source of origin is related to the Indo-European word *moros (death).{50} The same creatures can be known under different names—for example, the German Alp or Trut.

And what do ravens eat?” Jack was a familiar, a particular kind of supernatural who could enhance and strengthen the powers of the witch he was bonded to. It also meant he could shift into a raven. She’d never seen him do it, but his son, Cole, who was engaged to Pandora Williams, was the same kind of supernatural, and she’d seen him in raven form once.

But if we ask whether there was not sonic madness about him, whether his naturally just mind was not subject to some kind of disturbing influence which was not essential to itself, then we ask a very different question, and require, unless I am mistaken, a very different answer. When all Philistine mistakes are set aside, when all mystical ideas are appreciated, there is a real sense in which Blake was mad. It is a practical and certain sense, exactly like the sense in which he was not mad. In fact, in almost every case of his character and extraordinary career we can safely offer this proposition, that if there was something wrong with it, it was wrong even from his own best standpoint. People talk of appealing from Philip drunk to Philip sober; it is easy to appeal from Blake mad to Blake sane. When Blake lived at Felpham angels appear to have been as native to the Sussex trees as birds. Hebrew patriarchs walked on the Sussex ])owns as easily as if they were in the desert. Some people will be quite satisfied with saying that the mere solemn attestation of such miracles marks it man as a madman or a liar. But that is a short cut of sceptical dogmatism which is not far removed from inipu- dence. Surely we cannot take an open question like the supernatural and shut it with a bang, turning the key of the n►ad-house. on all the mystics of history. To call a man mad because lie has seen ghosts is in a literal sense religious persecution. It is denying him his full dignity as a citizen because lie cannot be fitted into your theory of the cosmos. It is disfranchising him because of his religion. It is just as intolerant to tell an old woman that she cannot be a witch as to tell her that she must be a witch. In both cases you are setting your own theory of things inexorably against the sincerity or sanity of human testimony. Such dogmatism at least must be quite as impossible to anyone calling himself an agnostic as to anyone calling himself a spiritualist. You cannot take the region called the unknown and calmly say that though you know nothing about it, you know that all its gates are locked. You cannot say, "This island is not discovered yet; but I am sure that it has a wall of cliffs all round it and no harbour." That was the whole fallacy of Herbert Spencer and Huxley when they talked about the unknowable instead of about the unknown. An agnostic like Huxley must concede the possibility of a gnostic like Blake. We do not know enough about the unknown to

any formalized practices by human beings designed to achieve particular ends by the control, manipulation and direction of supernatural power or of spiritual power concealed within the natural world’.

As he drove down the claustrophobic corridor of khaki colored corn stalks the wicked witch was quickly replaced by Michael Myers. Who better to walk out into the middle of the road at that point. Ok, maybe Leatherface or even Jason Voorhees. The more he let his childhood nightmares fill his mind the faster he drove. The house kept growing in size as he got closer.

His snowshoe paws are encased in chains as he hops on his hind legs. On his forehead was placed a wreath of thorns, crimson and blasphemous it was. His eyes were drenched in white, no colors can be discerned whatsoever in the reflection of his pupils, only a harrowing stillness of nothingness can be glimpsed through his gaze. He was the image of a ghostly figure, his silhouette swirling like the clouds in the loftiest mountains in eternal Paradise; a divine messenger before all animals and humanity. He wears shimmering chest armor resembling the scorching rays of the sunlight, with a fire crown of thorns burning on his forehead, which embodies the colors of the Earth's horizon, showcasing seventeen stars in its center. He had a voluminous, metallic beard, which was made of arctic sand from the Northern Winter lands - it was wizardly like - something out of a mythical folk tale that comes from a children's novel. His body glistens like the shattered fragments from the Moon, with his fur appearing like green moss surrounded by waterfalls flowing from each corner on his appearance - evolving into snowflakes, ice, as well as winter storms if you inflict your might at his anguish. He’s a supernatural being that all the Witches of the globe worshiped. He is greater, more superior, more virtuous than all deities people pray to on Earth. He’s the lunar father of all the Heavens and Earth, the All-father of all Animals and Mankind. When you see the Hare flying in the skies of the Universe, He’s bestowing the blessings of Sprout, Summer, Autumn, Winter. As the Hare Lunar King steps on the green grass, the mountains will begin to shake, the oceans will become huge typhoons, earthquakes will rumble across the nations as mankind annihilates each other in the guise of the Hare Lunar Emperor. However, the hare will grieve for all humankind, for he knows that the Earth is devoid of vengeance, so he must demolish it in preparation to reconstruct it from a pristine foundation. That future is nigh, that soon will arrive - it’s unfolding as I converse. The Lunar Rabbit King is coming back with his swarm of rabbits - mankind will not evade the menace of long ears - for their King will tell the sinister world with a voice of a thundering lion roar, ‘it is completed! go into the depths of your abysmal eternity, and enslave yourself as the locust of the earth in the fires of tribulation, for you will be tormented from sunrise to sunset, where sunlight is no more; forevermore.

The most important roles of the village magical specialists were healing, fortune-telling, finding lost objects or animals, exposing thieves, "seeing" buried treasure or money, and communicating messages from the dead. However, there does seem to be some variety in the roles of the weather magicians and the fertility magicians. Generally speaking, the community magicians' tasks of obtaining rain and warding off hail seem to have been important in the central southeastern European highlands: the Alps, the Carpathians, and the Balkans.{7} In many more cases and aspects than research had generally assumed, and beyond their manipulation of supernatural powers as magicians, these village specialists were also mediators who contacted the other world through the technique of trance.

In Richard Kieckhefer's summary of European witch hunts, which examines the traits of those falling victim to accusation, three categories are defined. These are persons caught in the act of actual (positive or negative) sorcery; well-meaning sorcerers or healers who lost either the authorities' or their clients' trust; and a third group who did nothing and in whose cases the accusation of maleficium was merely an outlet for tensions that had arisen between neighbors.{13} Christina Larner, in summarizing information derived from the Scottish witch trials, expands this list by adding people reputed to be witches, that is, individuals surrounded by an aura of witch beliefs.{14} In my view, especially in the present context, the importance of the latter has to be emphasized: in European belief systems they are the witches par excellence, supernatural witches who, according to the beliefs traditionally attributed to them, are capable of maleficium in a supernatural way.