Quotes About Witching

It's the witching hour once more-When the Muse comes out to play.He calls me through that magic door-Where galaxies of worlds await!

frozen with fright. This was the witching hour all right. The tall black figure was coming her way. It was keeping very close to the houses across the street, hiding in the shadowy places where there was no moonlight.

The witching hour, somebody had once whispered to her, was a special moment in the middle of the night when every child and every grown-up was in a deep deep sleep, and all the dark things came out from hiding and had the world all to themselves.

'Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright. And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?

Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.

Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright, And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen For what listen they?

Tis "the witching time of night", / Orbed is the moon and bright, / And the stars they glisten, glisten, / Seeming with bright eyes to listen —

For a whole fortnight now, my dear, I have been living the life of society; one evening at the Italiens, another at the Grand Opera, and always a ball afterwards. Ah! society is a witching world.

When it draws near to witching time of night.

Midnight. The witching hour, some say. Since it was 12:07 A.M. and I was standing over a dead body, I had to agree.

Nothing beats a haunted moonlit night on All Hallows Eve.... And on this fatal night, at this witching time, the starless sky laments black and unmoving. The somber hues of an ominous, dark forest are suddenly illuminated under the emerging face of the full moon.

Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world.

It was closing in on midnight, the kind of midnight you only get on Uranus after a three day bender. Ultramarine fog reeking of ethanol and neon and some passing whore's rosewater. Snow piled up like bodies in tbhe street. Twenty-seven moons lighting up what ought to be a respectable witching hour so you can't help but see yourself staring back in every slick glowpink skyscraper.

'Twas now the very witching time of night, When churchyards groan, and graves give up their dead, And many a mischievous, enfranchised sprite Had long since burst his bonds of stone or lead, And hurried off, with schoolboy-like delight, To play his pranks near some poor wretch's bed, Sleeping, perhaps serenely as a porpoise, Nor dreaming of this fiendish Habeas Corpus.

White is for witching, a colour to be worn so that all other colours can enter you, so that you may use them. At a pinch, cream will do.

White is for witching, a colour to be worn so that all other colours can enter you, so that you may use them.

Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world; now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on.

Apocalypses always kick off at the witching hour.

Apocalypses always kick off at the witching hour. That's something you know now.