Paul Gauguin Two Tahitian Women

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And Granny Weatherwax, striding home alone through the midnight forest, wrapped her shawl around her and considered. It had been a long day, and a trying one. The theatre had been the worst part. All people night, contained strange and terrible things and she was it.
'Let him be whoever he minks he is,' she said. 'That's all anybody could hope for in this world.'
Like most people, witches are unfocused in time. The difference is that they dimly realise it, and make use of it. They cherish the past because part of them is still living there, and they can see the shadows the future casts before it.
Granny could feel the shape of the future, and it had knives in it.
pretending to be other people, things happening that weren't real, bits of countryside you could put your foot through . . . Granny liked to know where she stood, and she wasn't certain she stood for that sort of thing. The world seemed to be changing all the time.It didn't use to change so much. It was bewildering.She walked quickly through the darkness with the frank stride of someone who was at least certain that the forest, on this damp and windy