Best 2 151 of Horror quotes - MyQuotes
Your tills are talking to me and want me to take them home. Does this often happen?
I want to have her hands..! Morino's hands...
No wonder many people dare not look closely at life: It's a horrible sight.
Nathan Reese Maher
I’m afraid they’re not coming.” Abby said fearfully. “Our parents, our teachers – everyone! They’ve disappeared. That’s it. Lights out, Shelly. We’re on our own.
You mistake tragedy for horror because no one likes true sadness.
It's my time to scare you, it's time for scary story.
The maddened four men followed frantically, for it is better to be in the presence of the awful than only within hearing. ("The Black Dog")
I live in different worlds. One world where I perform my duty as a part of society. My favorite is my world. The writing's world.
I didn't have an affinity for horror. But I knew that commercially it was viable.
He slammed the door and ran blindly down the corridor, grabbing at handles. What exactly had he seen? They had been eating with their bare hands, but somehow the only thought he could hold on to was a kind of sickened gratitude that he had been unable to see their faces.
All the cops were tied up trying to maintain control, but it was already lost.
Those who did better were those who didn't wait idly for help to arrive. In the end, with systems crashing and failing, what mattered most and had the greatest immediate effects were the actions and decisions made in the midst of a crisis by individuals.
I always said I acted like a twelve-year old, so I decided to write like a twelve-year old.
The officers of the 26th Precinct had their hands full. The night was starting out to be quite busy. What they did not realize is that it was only the beginning. Things were about to get worse and not just for them, but for the entire city.
I come not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.
In the real world, babysitting is a groovy way for young people to learn responsibility (and earn a little pocket money). In the Terrorverse, it's a plot device used to kill teenagers.
Time which destroys everything, even time itself...
I really, really need some help and advice. I'm scared... I'm scared of my own home, of my own daughter!
Alone, even in a crowd. Dead, but able to touch and sense the living. Real, but intangible.
A. K. Kuykendall
There is a doll. The wicked she conjures is never small. Her name is Christie. She likes to play. Takes a break only when you wither away.
They want to be stimulated. They want to read something that can get under their skin and hang out there for a while.
If I'd been born a ghoul, I think I would've killed people. I just happened to be born a human. That's the only reason why I'm allowed to live a moral life.
When I was cooking I enjoyed a sense of being ‘out’ of myself. The action of dicing vegetables and warming oil made my hands tingle and my thoughts switch to a different hemisphere, right brain rather than left, or left rather than right. In my mind there were many rooms and, just as I still got lost in the labyrinth of corridors at college, I often found myself lost, with a sense of déjà vu, in some obscure part of my cerebral cortex, the part of the brain that plays a key role in perceptual awareness, attention and memory. Everything I had lived through or imagined or dreamed appeared to have been backed up on a video clip and then scattered among those alien rooms. I could stumble into any number of scenes, from the horrifically sexual, horror-movie sequences that were crude and painful, to visualizing Grandpa polishing his shoes.
Behold the crucifix; what does it symbolize? Pallid incompetence hanging on a tree. Compton
I found a brief piece of by Antonio Vivaldi around this time which became my ‘Pinhead Mood Music’. Called Al Santo Sepolcro (At The Holy Sepulchre), it opens more like a piece of modern orchestral music, and although it it moves toward Vivaldi’s familiar harmonies, there is always the threat that it will fall back into dissonance. The piece progresses in an exquisite agony, poised on a knife edge between beauty and disfigurement, joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain. Perfect.
I've had horror movies thrown at me and I just don't want to do any because violence isn't really good for society.
This man can make a horror movie without makeup.
He handed me something done up in paper. 'Your mask,' he said. 'Don't put it on until we get past the city-limits.' It was a frightening-looking thing when I did so. It was not a mask but a hood for the entire head, canvas and cardboard, chalk-white to simulate a skull, with deep black hollows for the eyes and grinning teeth for the mouth. The private highway, as we neared the house, was lined on both sides with parked cars. I counted fifteen of them as we bashed by; and there must have been as many more ahead, in the other direction. We drew up and he and I got out. I glanced in cautiously over my shoulder at the driver as we went by, to see if I could see his face, but he too had donned one of the death-masks. 'Never do that,' the Messenger warned me in a low voice. 'Never try to penetrate any other member's disguise.' The house was as silent and lifeless as the last time - on the outside. Within it was a horrid, crawling charnel-house alive with skull-headed figures, their bodies encased in business-suits, tuxedos, and evening dresses. The lights were all dyed a ghastly green or ghostly blue, by means of colored tissue-paper sheathed around them. A group of masked musicians kept playing the Funeral March over and over, with brief pauses in between. A coffin stood in the center of the main living-room. I was drenched with sweat under my own mask and sick almost to death, even this early in the game. At last the Book-keeper, unmasked, appeared in their midst. Behind him came the Messenger. The dead-head guests all applauded enthusiastically and gathered around them in a ring. Those in other rooms came in. The musicians stopped the Death Match. The Book-keeper bowed, smiled graciously. 'Good evening, fellow corpses,' was his chill greeting. 'We are gathered together to witness the induction of our newest member.' There was an electric tension. 'Brother Bud!' His voice rang out like a clarion in the silence. 'Step forward.' ("Graves For Living")
I grew up in a spooky little town in a house with a spooky little basement, so the sensation of uneasy trepidation is home for me; it takes me back to boyhood.
Tormented by an unworldly hunger, yet not knowing how to satisfy it.
He was too damn old to run now, too tired of that romantic idea of freedom that infected the heads of the young and later killed most of them with crushing disappointment. The Cassinis had always made sure he was just comfortable enough to want to sit tight and not risk the generosities they’d afforded him, and the older he got, the more comfortable he became. Comfort had a way of killing the romance in just about everybody.
Horror is a situation, not a character, no matter how evil one may be.
I'm having fun with what I'm doing but I'd never categorically say no to something because it's not horror. I'm keeping an open mind.
Fetch him breakfast. Fetch him coffee. Fetch his sheets for his bed. Fetch him lunch. Fetch his drink. Fetch the ax to cut his head. Fetch him dinner. Fetch him tea. Fetch the mop but watch him bleed.
...but what are people but deaths that haven’t happened yet?” “Births that already happened?” Jackie said without thinking.
Bullshit. You can paint with a fork, you can kill with a fork. A fork is a tool. Don't let yourself be confined by the definitions of others.
I'm guessing you're tits deep in a horror novel. Something by Laymon, or Ketchum, or one of those sick fucks you read.
I think erotica goes nicely with horror, and so do romance and history - but to be honest, if it's got horror, I'm happy!
She is a double danger—there is the danger of meeting her, and the danger of becoming her. Does the nightmare of her belong to everyone, or just to me?
I don't watch horror movies because they scare me!
So you're lost, uh? Happens a lot out here. You walk around for days, seeing things, losing your bearings, crying out for God, But He can't hear you. You can scream and scream but nobody'll ever hear you.
Second Cosmic Seal: (Seal of Karl 666) One who has received this Cosmic Seal is empowered to control not less than 160,000 spirits. Many great politicians, military commanders, etc. on earth are at this occult level of operations. This will be the occult level of Antichrist.
But if home suddenly becomes not like home, what then?
What I love about watching classic horror films is that they take you on a ride and they obviously make you scared because you're so invested in the characters, you're almost forgetting that oh my God, this is about to scare me.
Verily it is a foolish thought that they both have devised, for the ground is given unto the wood, and the sea also had its place to bear its floods.
Then the crying started. First one child, a little girl called Jen from across the street, then another, then another, until the June afternoon sounded like a vacation in hell.
Go thy way, weigh me the weight of the fire, or measure me the blast of the wind, or call me again the day that is past.
For the first time she realized she'd spent so much time mourning a world that had ended ages ago, hoping to resurrect it, that she'd never paid attention to what it was becoming. Or returning to again, now that it was unfettered. Where were the centaurs, she might have asked instead. Where were the gorgons, the furies, the giants and the gods?
There were opium-dens, where one could buy oblivion, dens of horror where the memory of old sins could be destroyed by the madness of sins that were new.
Sometimes good people do bad things.