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“Hasn't there always been a moon?"
"Bless you. Not in the slightest. I remember the day the moon came. We looked up in the sky--it was all dirty brown and sooty gray here then, not green and blue...”
― Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

“Goddess Rising

This is for the women
Who have walked with hidden shame
Stirring like all is well
Though weighted down in pain.

This is for her Inner Child
Who longs to forget
Her innocence stolen
Body, soul and spirit rent
into pieces- fragments-broken-bent

This is for the Maiden
Longing to belong
-To another -
In hopes
to make right the darkened wrongs
Not realizing-blinded by oozing wounds
Her own innate delicious power
Thick within her womb

This is for the Mother
Breaking eons of fettered chains
For the children she has birthed
Through blood and breaths of change
She calls them Redemption
Regardless of their names

This is for the Crone
Who called her shattered pieces Home
To herself-
To all her luminous bodies
Where she never dared to feel

Making strong her bones
Crushing~ oppressors
With the swaying of her hips
Her hands soaring like doves
Honey dripping from her lips

This is for the Wild Woman
Who traversed the Underground
Leaving her footprints
While taming the Hellhounds.
Like a seed breaking fallow ground
Emerging fruitful garden
No longer bound

By the nightmare of the past
Awakened from the Dream-
Of Separation
SHE. IS.- merging realms between.

This is for the woman, for the Goddess
For me
For you
Rising from our ashes
Making ALL things new~”
― Mishi McCoy

“In art and mythology, the Goddess appears in three forms. White represents the virgin, red the mother, and black, the crone, or the death-goddess.”
― Erin O'Riordan, Cut

“You haggle like a crone with a codfish.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons

“There are moment of sadness and moment of joy. This is life.”
― Beth Cohen

“Quickly and quietly, the Princess returned to the cottage, for she knew what she must do. The crone had sacrificed her eyes to provide the Princess with shelter and now must this kindness be repaid. Although she had never traveled beyond the forest rim, the Princess did not hesitate. Her love for the crone was so fathomless that if all the grains of sand in the ocean should be stacked up end to end, they would not run so deep.”
― Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden

“As women, we can embody all aspects of the Triple Goddess simultaneously (Mother, Maiden, Crone) at every stage of our lives. The elements of feminine mystique, giftedness, and strength are available to us through the spirit as much as the body.”
― Elizabeth Eiler, Singing Woman: Voices of the Sacred Feminine

“About an hour into Laura's cremation, the pall of grief had lifted from the circle.
The last speaker came forward to address the crowd in a way that would have been inappropriate just ninety minutes earlier. 'Everything you all said about how Laura was a wonderful person, that's true. But in my mind, she'll always be one of the wild crones. A partier. I'd like to give her a howl.'
'Oooooooooooooooooooooo,' she bellowed, with the crowd joining in around her.”
― Caitlin Doughty, From Here to Eternity: Traveling the World to Find the Good Death

“There was much work to be done in the crone's cottage, but the Princess was never heard to complain, for she was a true Princess with a pure heart. The happiest folk are those that are busy, for their minds are starved of time to seek out woe. Thus did the Princess grow up contented. She came to love the changing seasons and learned the satisfaction of sowing seeds and tending crops. And although she was becoming beautiful, the Princess did not know it, for the crone had neither looking glass nor vanity and thus the Princess had not learned the ways of either.”
― Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden

“I was in the prime of my time as the maiden, the magic of the middle â€� not yet the mother and far from the crone. My supple, small breasts were not yet deflated from years of nursing sweet babies. My strong, smooth stomach hadn’t expanded in the mysterious, magical way it would, to grow another human. My skin was yet to be speckled in white spots, ravaged by too many summers. As the years passed, my looks would fade, the lines around my eyes would grow deeper, and I would become a different kind of beautiful.”
― Dana Da Silva, The Shift: A Memoir