Best 70 of Goth quotes - MyQuotes
A good enemy can be better than the best of friend.
I always am in a role, lovely – for you, for them – even for myself. Yeah... Even when I’m alone, I am still in a role – and I myself am the most exacting audience I have ever had.
And what if you try to kill me? Or worse: to kiss me?
Goths do not hate the world. They just learned to accept the world that refuses to understand them.
It wasn't so much of a controlled effort to end up as part of the Goth scene.
Sarah Michelle Gellar
I would dye my hair every week. I wanted to be a really goth teenager.
I was never able to accept anyone else’s support but my own –
I went through a mod and goth-phase when I decided that I wouldn't ever be the bronzed beach-bunny. I started going as pale as I possibly could.
The desperate piercing scream of horror echoed far above the sharpened tops of the trees wrapped in thin obsidian-transparent mist, and I startled jerkily, tripping again, and almost collapsed onto the cold moist ground.
Strength and victory... What he would never praise himself for, but whose loss was his most obsessive fear.
Nice. I like a little desperation in a guy. It builds character.
As a teenager I went all Goth, but I wasn't mopey enough. I would pretend to be, but I'd end up making people laugh.
I wouldn't consider myself Goth, but I love Gothic pieces.
Emotions don’t interfere in my acting, nor in my life.
Even I don’t know myself... In fact, I don’t know if I really have a self at all, as I’m constantly playing different roles and pretending – not so much on stage as in real life...
It's funny that all these goths paint their faces with such white make-up and that is the actual colour of my skin, I am that pale!
So, apart from casting runes, what other hobbies do you have? Forbidden rituals, human sacrifices, torturing? –
Have a look around, my pretty, we are surrounded by Death in all forms – just the two of us are still alive –
Bite me, Goth princess,” Shane called from the back. “Not literally or anything.” “Maybe you should say that to Michael.” “Not funny, Eve,” Michael said. Eve raised her eyebrows and held her fingers up, measuring off about an inch. “Little bit,” she said.
Filip was from San Jose, but his painfully good looks excused that. He was tall, six-foot-something-or-other, intensely blue eyes, chiseled features, massive package. Didn't have Prince Albert in a Can, but he did have a thick gauged one through his cock head. His name really wasn’t Filip, it was Brent, an all-American moniker about as dark and mysterious as pastel-colored bobby socks. Initially, I joked about his choice of sobriquet, changing his name to go off to the big city, transform into Mr. Big Stuff, until it dawned on me I’d done the same damn thing with my ‘Catalyst’ surname. So I shut up. He comported himself with rigid shoulders and stiff gestures, as if he had a secret. Turns out he did. Filip was married, had a wife for more than a year now, but they had some kind of crazy arrangement. Days they were a couple; evenings they were free to do as they pleased. Where’d they come up with that idea, Jerry Springer? “If you wanted to go back to your place, we could,” Filip suggested. “But only until dawn.” Yeah, right. An affair is an affair, the way I see it. What difference is there between 5 and 7 a.m.? Was their marriage some sort of religious fasting thing, starve until the sun sets then binge and party down? I'd never sunk my teeth into married meat, but figured it was a logical progression from my I'm Not Gay But It's Different With You saga. And if I was going to sin, I was gonna sin good. That means no peeking to see whether it’s still dark outside.
Insane love. Loving insanity. Insanity and love...
But I don't think anybody with any self-respect would admit to being Goth
I always get the 'goth girl' thing because I wear black. But I don't worship death.
At least I graduated," he muttered, stabbing the key in and unlocking the door. I sucked in a breath. "I think dying was a little out of my control, thank you very much." "If you say so". He shrugged, but I saw the corner of his mouth turn up into a faint smile.
Vladimir stood next to one of the beams on the back porch of our new home, leaning on his back. He reached in his pocket and grabbed a pack of cigarettes, Marlboro Reds which were his favorites, and he lit one up. He was dressed all in black; black skinny jeans, black studded belt, black tennis shoes, black v neck shirt and he had the hood of his black jacket up over his head. He looked cool and collected, and somewhat villainous.” -Nina Jean Slack, Once Lost, Forever Found (Vol. #1)
I’d love to try to tame you... And I would simply adore it if you turn out untamable –
Do you have any idea who Erin was kissing?" "Yeah, so we'll brush out teeth really, really thoroughly afterwards," I said, bumping her nose with mine gently. I wasn't going to let anyone spoil this moment.
You look like a Goth factory exploded all over you!" he called as she ran down the hall. "Love you, too, jackass!
I was last in Rome in AD 540 when it was full of Goths and their heavy horses. It has changed a great deal since then.
I don't wear tattoos to freak her out; I wear them because I have to. It's me.
You were right, everybody hates my new car. Becky said it was a goth dorkmobile.
You kissed me once and now you feel as if you’ve got some special kind of licence to do it whenever you want?
Gray. The overcast skies had the colour of deadened stones, and seemed closer than usually, as though they were phlegmatically observing my every movement with their apathetic emptily blue-less eyes; each tiny drop of hazy rain drifting around resembled transparent molten steel, the pavement looked like it was about to burst into disconsolate tears, even the air itself was gray, so ultimate and ubiquitous that colour was everywhere around me. Gray...
The unknown grayish mystifying forest was benumbed into frost-covered cold, and the tremendous pines towering above the dark marshy soil resembled a gathering of severe mute brothers from a forbidden ancient order worshiping forgotten gods no one had ever heard of outside of the world of secret occult visions.
What happened to you?" she asked. "Ben was feeling artistic. Wanted to rearrange my face.
The utter unbroken silence was more appalling than any ominous noise, than the loudest yells of anguish, than the most piercing screaming... Dead silence. Literally dead.
I don't know why people think I'm a Goth - that's a misconception.
Amy had always thought she was too vain and selfish to seriously contemplate suicide, also too afraid of pain. She realized now that when she'd thought that, she hadn't understood how painful existence could get. It could get so painful, it turned out, that any other kind of pain began to seem preferable. She felt ridiculous thinking these goth-teenager thoughts, but they were real.
I was recently living more comfortably surrounded by secrets... Like dozens of luxurious satiny pillows, they were embracing me from all directions into safe lulling warmth, thus isolating me from the sharp dead-cold edges of the truth hiding behind their endearingly smooth textures and tender soothing colours. Secrets could be so irresistibly beautiful...
You know what, your imagination works faster than your mind.
And I wasn’t playing a role – I was trying to be myself. But the harder I was striving, the more I was realizing that I had probably lost that ‘myself’ somewhere between two perfectly performed roles...
Bouncing in hoppy little circles like a demented Goth bunny.
Brian came in heavy at that moment on his guitar, the rapid, high-pitched squeal ranging back and forth as his fingers flew along the frets. As the intro's tempo grew more rapid, Bekka heard Derek's subtle bass line as it worked its way in. After another few seconds Will came in, slow at first, but racing along to match the others' pace. When their combined efforts seemed unable to get any heavier, David jumped into the mix. As the sound got nice and heavy, Bekka began to rock back-and-forth onstage. In front of her, hundreds of metal-lovers began to jump and gyrate to their music. She matched their movements for a moment, enjoying the connection that was being made, before stepping over to the keyboard that had been set up behind her. Sliding her microphone into an attached cradle, she assumed her position and got ready. Right on cue, all the others stopped playing, throwing the auditorium into an abrupt silence. Before the crowd could react, however, Bekka's fingers began to work the keys, issuing a rhythm that was much softer and slower than what had been built up. The audience's violent thrash-dance calmed at that moment and they began to sway in response. Bekka smiled to herself. This is what she lived for.