Best 195 of Nightmares quotes - MyQuotes
If we didn't have nightmares, we wouldn't wake up every morning chasing our dreams.
Bad dreams are better than no dreams...at least they tell you what you're afraid of knowing.
Isn’t so scary that the person you used to daydream about is the same one who left you with so many nightmares?!
Maia screamed and woke. 'Serenity?' Cala's voice, Cala's angular shape outlined against the window. ' 'Tis an ironic title, in sooth,' Maia said feebly, realizing that the entangling garments of the nightmare were merely his bedsheets. His heart was hammering, and he was clammy with sweat.
Jonathan Safran Foer
When she woke up crying for one of her nightmares, the Kolker would stay with her, brush her hair with his hands, collect her tears in thimbles for her to drink the next morning (The only way to overcome sadness is to consume it, he said), and more than that: once her eyes closed and she fell back asleep, he was left to bear the insomnia. There was a complete transfer, like a speeding billiard ball colliding with a resting one. Should Brod feel depressed - she was always depressed - the Kolker would sit with her until he could convince her that it’s OK. It is. Really. And when she would move on with her day, he would stay behind, paralysed with a grief he couldn’t name and that wasn’t his. Should Brod become sick, it was the Kolker that would be bedridden by week’s end. Should Brod feel bored, knowing too many languages, too many facts, with too much knowledge to be happy, the Kolker would stay up all night studying her books, studying the pictures, so the next day he could try to make the kind of small talk that would please his young wife.
The only way to stop a nightmare is to open your eyes, if perchance you realize you were dreaming
Shannon M Mullen
Who am I fooling? Bad dreams never end. We just pretend they aren’t there.
The little girl’s face was from Will’s vilest nightmares. Cavernous mouth, distended chin, bastardized nose. The enormous, bulging eyes glared at Will, demanded he see the truth, commanded him to acknowledge his sin.
Dead flesh and sharpened scalpels didn't bother me. I was my father's daughter, after all. My nightmares were made of darker things.
Her voice never stops: even when I sleep, it is a shining silver thread running through most of my dreams and all my nightmares, whispering, beseeching, threatening: One word from you is all I want. Just speak one word, and we'll begin. Name, rank, and serial number, perhaps the misquoted lyrics from a popular song: anything will do. From there we'll move with slow cautious steps to gentle verbal sparring, twice-told tales, descriptions of the scarred and darkest places of our old and worn-out souls. I'll love you back; I'll tell you secrets—
The chandelier was wearing on its rubber support and the crack at the side of the ceiling hold was getting bigger. “One day that’s going to fall on us and spear you through the heart,” he said. I turned to kiss him on the shoulder and closed my eyes.
I wonder sometimes if the thoughts that flock my nightmares are abandoned memories coming home to roost.
When your dream turns into a nightmare, rise to the challenge and slaughter the dragons
I woke myself in the darkness, and I knew only that a dream had scared me so badly that I had to wake up or die, and yet, try as I might, I could not remember what I had dreamed. The dream was haunting me: standing behind me, present and yet invisible, like the back of my head, simultaneously there and not there.
Most nightmares are caged in their realm by implausibilities. The sleeper slogs through quicksand in a fun house of frightening nonsense and disjointed mumbo jumbo. But everything’s all better once the bedside lamp is back on, because reality, even when it’s bad, is easily distinguished from night terror. Except for the trying-to-scream dream. That one’s pretty much spot-on.
Marry your dreams, divorce your nightmares.
You are much larger than anything you encounter while you sleep. Everything that happens in dream takes place on a small stage in a corner of your mind.
Dreams are horrible, to don't talk about nightmares they are more often. But there is always one gift from a person which you know is dead, that's how it works and it will continue to work.
A ten-year-old Amanda wandering around the sights and sounds of a carnival. Trying to take it all in as such an event was much larger than the backroads of isolated territory from whence she grew up. She could not imagine this many people assembled in one place. It was made more disturbing by the fact none of them seemed familiar. Short for her age, she wandered unnoticed among the crowds and began to feel the first stirrings of fear. The loud talk, the screaming children, the long lines of procession, along with the myriads of odors created a miasma that she wanted to flee. The laughter and the faux expressions of joy on the faces of people, took on the maroon tones of a nightmare. She could imagine underneath the laughter, were horrid screams about to erupt.
It's because the door hasn't been closed yet that the nightmares still find their way in.
He's a nightmare," she said. "I can be, too." Rook answered, his red eyes glowing. "Just try me.
Bria was silent for a moment. “What—what were you dreaming about?” I shrugged. “The usual. The night that our mother and Annabella died. I always see different parts of it, different bits and pieces.” “What did you see tonight?” I grimaced, even though she couldn’t see it in the darkness. “Oh, tonight was a real doozy. I dreamed about watching them die, about seeing them both disappear into balls of flames as Mab’s elemental Fire washed over them.” “Oh.
In my sleep I have my nightmares, awake I have my thoughts, I am not sure which is worse.
In these myriad ways, we carved out our lives in Los Angeles. Yet falling asleep was often an act of travel, taking me quickly by the hand so that I am instantly surrounded by verdant foliage, the ocean's emerald roar, the voices of Alice, Mala, our grandmother. Those most familiar and beloved of women. But there are also nightmares. Over and over I dream of a small house, a glittering lagoon, a mango tree, and a young girl. She stands before me and her large bruised eyes do not leave mine. When she unpins the sari fold at her shoulder and pulls it away from her, I see sunset-colored bruises on her delicate clavicles. When she undoes her sari blouse, I see the grenades tucked like extra breasts under her own. It is grotesque. I wake trembling, and her eyes stays with me for hours.
If you can think of anything more terrifying than that happening to you in the middle of the night, then let's hear about it.
Curtis Tyrone Jones
Some situations are just like bad dreams, they're only unbearable while we're giving them our full attention.
That night, Annabeth slept without nightmares, which just made her uneasy when she woke up - like the calm before a storm.
You should only be scared of your imagination because it'll haunt you at night
Gardeners produce flowers that are delicious dreams, and others too that are like nightmares.
Surrealism is not a movement. It is a latent state of mind perceivable through the powers of dream and nightmare.
He clearly suffers from some past traumas too, so hopefully he'll understand why I was untruthful to him about mine.
But the fact is, dreams catch us with our armor off.
I bolted upright in my bed, gasping for air and still feeling his touch on my hand. I could feel him watching me. I could feel him waiting for me.
If you look into someone else’s dreams, all you ever find are nightmares.
I’ve long considered becoming a writer to be the death of nightmares. For me at least, since I started writing I hadn’t had any. Something really terrible or awful happens in a dream and you wake up and think, awesome, and reach for a pen and paper.
When you wake up from a nightmare, the reality comforts you. When you wake up from the best dream ever, reality is a burden, a slap-in-the-face reminder that you could feel this, you could have this, but you don’t and you won’t.
I am kinda lost, don't know who I am, what am doing, and why I am in it. Everything around me is more like a weird dream. I wish I could wake up. Before the dream finishes me.
Shortly before five o’clock, Mayor Thorin woke from a terrible dream. In it, a bird with pink eyes had been cruising slowly back and forth above the Barony. Wherever its shadow fell, the grass turned yellow, the leaves fell shocked from the trees, and the crops died. The shadow was turning his green and pleasant Barony into a waste land. It may be my Barony, but it’s my bird, too, he thought just before awakening, huddled into a shuddery ball on one side of his bed. My bird, I brought it here, I let it out of its cage.
G. K. Chesterton
That is, I fancy, the true doctrine on the subject of Tales of Terror and such things, which unless a man of letters do well and truly believe, without doubt he will end by blowing his brains out or by writing badly. Man, the central pillar of the world must be upright and straight; around him all the trees and beasts and elements and devils may crook and curl like smoke if they choose. All really imaginative literature is only the contrast between the weird curves of Nature and the straightness of the soul.
They say the mad live in a world of dreams, or nightmares. I just need to find the way out.
She yanked up the veil from Sarah’s burka to catch her breath in the night’s thick air. Frantic, Zoe snatched her cell phone from the bedside table. The touchscreen’s dim light painted her frightened silhouette on the bedroom wall.
Jessica Marie Baumgartner
Annie refused to believe in nightmares. Anything she feared at night, she knew she could kill once awake.
In nightmares we can think the worst. That's what they're for, I guess.
It is a law of nature that a dream carried for too long inside you must, eventually, begin to rot.
We are more than the person who wakes each day. We are the dreams of the previous night and the nightmares of the week before.
Most of the days, I am gripped by these visions, Memories! that haunt my present, What is it, That Separates me from You ? What is it, That cam bring me close ? All through the night, i seek such things, All through the night, i lose Myself .
I can push everything into the dark.But it leaves me empty.And the dark always ends up finding me in my sleep
Do not ignore dreams. They are a line from the past to the future. All nightmares are real.
In the daylight we know what’s gone is gone, but at night it’s different. Nothing gets finished, not dying, not mourning;
Even in his sleep he couldn't escape.