Witches were a bit like cats. They didn’t much like one another’s company, but they did like to know where all the other witches were, just in case they needed them.
When you were a witch, you were all witches.
Ordinary fortune-tellers tell you what you want to happen; witches tell you what’s going to happen whether you want it to or not. Strangely enough, witches tend to be more accurate but less popular.
Most witches don’t believe in gods. They know that the gods exist, of course. They even deal with them occasionally. But they don’t believe in them. They know them too well. It would be like believing in the postman.
If you want to really upset a witch, do her a favor which she has no means of repaying. The unfulfilled obligation will nag at her like a hangnail.
I’m not superstitious. I’m a witch. Witches aren’t superstitious. We are what people are superstitious of.
Being a witch is a man’s job: that’s why it needs women to do it.
Any fool could be a witch with a runic knife, but it took skill to be one with an apple corer.
A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest, Granny Weatherwax had once told her, because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her.[Granny Weatherwax had once told her]
“Blessings be on this house,” Granny said, perfunctorily. It was always a good opening remark for a witch. It concentrated people’s minds on what other things might be on this house.
