The Witching Tide Quotes

“Even stars could be trapped.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“the world’s old logic had been annulled and a new logic was taking its place.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“There is nothing, she has nothing save this mean inheritance: the casket, the poppet; the worm beginning its work in her throat. Strange gifts.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“Prayer was necessary, a habit like sleeping or breathing. Faith was different. Hers was not like other people’s. It had some basic defect, its restless inner needle always roving, from conviction to disbelief to shame and around again, moved about by some unseen current, the source of which she didn’t know. Mam had always said to pay no heed to how it worked; where the needle came to rest was a matter twixt a woman and her soul. In the end it was deeds that counted. In life Mam had been loud, practical, earthy. Her faith shallow-rooted, carried lightly even on Sundays; failing entirely at the end. Martha’s was similar, leaning to solid things that could be seen and heard and handled. Such as hollyhocks. Such as stones kissed for dead babes. Such as, a little wax poppet.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“Small dark waves lapped and broke and came again: like certainty, like doubt. Martha set down the soiled linens and crouched, rinsing her forearms in the black. Let the water wash away the night’s sorrows. Let it wash away panic. Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. Let the Lord deal with any witches. Foam came about her hands, quick with darting green lights that faded as she watched. The tide brought things and took things; the Lord gave life and took it. It was the order of the world, not for her to question.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“A knowledge nudged and nudged again, like an insect battering at a flame. She could feel it arriving even as she tried to hold it at bay. Some evil must have found its way into his mother’s bride bed. He must have been cursed, to be born so ill-formed. Her bowels writhed. How dreadful it was, how unworthy, to harbour this singular terror—primitive, ancient—that among them, these women, her friends, there could be a witch. The thought spread, consuming, eclipsing all things of grace in the world, dawn light on a pearly sea, the various golds of an autumn harvest, the miracle of a newborn, the kindness of neighbours. Which of them was it? Which?”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“The water was mute and grey and very still. From the width of it a big orange sun was crowning, burning away the mist.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“On her neck and arms the hair stood up, responding to some unfamiliar, alien current: revulsion, attraction, a variety of awe. Wax doll. Witching doll. Poppet.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“Downstairs she was struck with fright, threw down the bodkin and put her hands to her temples. Felt her own flesh, her pulse that was quick with a springing excitement. She wanted to live, and live freely. Prissy must live, and live freely.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“A hammer of thoughts in her head; the doll in her fingers, which now she dropped, as if it had stung her. What was it really, this deformity she had woken? What had she woken in herself? She squashed her hands together, as in prayer. Forgive me, forgive my trespass, O Lord. Wax flaked from her fingers. The doll was for using, that was its truth, the essence of its nature. As much as she feared it, she needed it.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“In her chest excitement and alarm jostled, speeding up her heart. She picked it up again to study it. The thing seemed to quiver; she felt air moving around her as though people—women—were brushing past; she could hear rustling skirts, felt the touch of hands on her face. There were sounds also—she brought it to her ear—an echo of voices—cries and protests and shrieked entreaties, Mam’s warnings—coming from its open mouth.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“Her body felt cold and partly vacant, as if her own solid self had been nudged aside to make room for something other—a force, a spirit. It coiled up her, very chill.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“Surely, always: it was better to do something. To take things in hand.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“They said… what? That she is of the Devil?” Aye… aye. His servant. She circled her ring finger. The Devil’s bride.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“She would be less than nothing. Disowned. Stateless. Worse than that: she would be reinvented, made monstrous; every one of her misdeeds and defects—real or imagined—magnified a thousand-fold. God help her then. God help them all. All the taken women.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“The kettles hissed over the fire and their noise mingled with the ripe waft of the slops bucket, setting off a queasy current that ran from the base of her throat to her guts. The same anxiety came and went and nudged again.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“The sun wrote strips of light on the wall and for a long time she studied them, unsure of their message.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“All the black of the world rose then. In it was a vision of the Archer babe—his blue mouth, his waxy pallor. Dread grew through her body like a vine.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“The house and the street and the hill beyond it were dimmed by a thick, flame-coloured haze, and as she crossed the grass she saw how the morning star was swathed in the vapour. A single magpie flew from it, so close that its wing-beat stirred the air by her face. It landed on the roof’s ridge and mocked her in its grating voice.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide

“I will call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised: so shall I be saved from my enemies. From myself.”
― Margaret Meyer, The Witching Tide