Best 155 quotes in «dread quotes» category

The dread of futility has been my life-long plague.

The Administration of the United States is such dread I almost feel paralyzed.

The burnt child dreads the fire.

The gardener had a dread of small women; he'd always imagined them to have an anger disproportionate to their size.

There is a fear of the Lord which is the beginning of wisdom, which is founded in love. There is also a slavish fear, which is a mere dread of evil, and is purely selfish.

...the power-loving temperament is more dangerous when it either prefers or is forced to operate in what is materially a void. Wehave everything to dread from the dispossessed.

The ignorant ever shun and dread the gifted and enlightened.

The people want wholesome dread. They want to fear something. They want someone to frighten them and make them shudderingly submissive.

There is no bore we dread being left alone with so much as our own minds.

There's nothing weirder than when your band finally gets big and you're playing sold-out arenas and you're selling millions of records, and you dread being a part of it all. It wasn't some master plan to go solo. I was just like, I would rather do my own thing, be happy, and have it be ten times less popular. That was really it. It just wasn't fun, the stress.

Waiting for the horror is almost more frightening than actually seeing it. Just the pending dread.

There are so few people that wake up every day and go do something that they dont dread... Im very lucky.

Valentine's Day is the day all singletons like me dread

We dread the future only when we are not sure we can kill ourselves when we want to.

We all dread a bodily paralysis, and would make use of every contrivance to avoid it; but none of us is troubled about a paralysis of the soul.

We dread old age, which are not sure of being able to attain. [Fr., L'on craint la vieillesse, que l'on n'est pas sur de pouvoir atteindre.]

We hope to grow old and we dread old age; that is to say, we love life and we flee from death.

When people do not dread authorities, then a greater dread descends.

This was what happiness felt like - this wondrous, miraculous alternative to dread.

When one has too great a dread of what is impending, one feels some relief when the trouble has come.

All she had ahead of her was the cold water, the slow ballet.

Why live life from dream to dream, and dread the day when dreaming ends.

Without life there can be no action — no objects of pursuit — no restless desires — no tormenting passions. Hence it is that we fondly cling to it — that we dread its termination as the close, not of enjoyment, but of hope.

You achieve strength, braveness and confidence by each experience in which you really halt to search dread during the deal with

And the only thing I knew how to do was to hold on as tightly as possible and count every single second until I reached the last one. The one I dreaded most. Sudden, violent, final. The end.

And it is because we all of us know of this sombre power and its perilous manifestations, that we stand in so deep a dread of silence. We can bear, when need must be, the silence of ourselves, that of isolation: but the silence of many - silence multiplied - and above all the silence of a crowd - these are supernatural burdens, whose inexplicable weight brings dread to the mightiest soul.

And when the shadow fades and is no more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light.

...a redoubtable alchemy was at work behind impenetrable veils as the forest prepared its nocturnal mysteries.

After she's gone, another brief lull sets in. This one is probably the last. But what good is a lull? It's only a breathing spell in which to get more frightened. Because anticipatory fear is always twice as strong as present fear. Anticipatory fear has both fears in it at once - the anticipatory one and the one that comes simultaneously with the dread happening itself. Present fear only has the one, because by that time anticipation is over. ("New York Blues")

At twenty-four she imagined with dread that she was growing old.

A worm of fear wriggled in Jaden’s stomach, and the ethereal assuredness he channeled moments before evaporated as the worm burrowed deeper. When he next spoke, his own voice of trapped hysteria broke through, the worm having reached journey’s end.

Beauty is a thing of might and dread. Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us.

But even as she spoke, a feeling of doom crept into her bones, joining the anger and dread already lurking there.

Behind every summer is a fall just waiting to happen.

But early on I saw this: You are wasting time by suffering twice. I mention this only to show how many things the mind cannot will itself to do, even if it wants to.

Carla's description was typical of survivors of chronic childhood abuse. Almost always, they deny or minimize the abusive memories. They have to: it's too painful to believe that their parents would do such a thing. So they fragment the memories into hundreds of shards, leaving only acceptable traces in their conscious minds. Rationalizations like "my childhood was rough," "he only did it to me once or twice," and "it wasn't so bad" are common, masking the fact that the abuse was devastating and chronic. But while the knowledge, body sensations, and feelings are shattered, they are not forgotten. They intrude in unexpected ways: through panic attacks and insomnia, through dreams and artwork, through seemingly inexplicable compulsions, and through the shadowy dread of the abusive parent. They live just outside of consciousness like noisy neighbors who bang on the pipes and occasionally show up at the door.

But lurking behind every summer was a fall just waiting to happen.

Confidence is what we get when we take fear, face it and replace it.

Dread is anxiety on steroids.

Danger will come upon us when it will. We can't stop it. We can only try to be prepared. There's no point in looking ahead to that danger and suffering its effects even before it comes to us.

Dread was always with her, an alarm system in her head, alert to her next disaster. Despite being resigned to a life of misfortune, she became resourceful. She grudgingly noticed that things always worked out, even when she claimed defeat. An inconvenient truth, yet it was right there, in her face, betraying her self-punishments and assumptions. She kept overcoming things, dammit, aggravating herself. She still felt so much joy, despite her efforts to be miserable. Her life was full of miracles and spectacles that she was afraid to rely on so she didn’t know how to enjoy, how to be thankful, without guilt. She didn’t want to win and she didn’t want to lose. Ambiguity intrigued her and she found passion in the gaps between hope and despair.

Even greater than my fear that l was crazy, was my lifelong dread that someone would find out.

He'd been at the Glade for roughly twenty-four hours. One full day. And look at all the things that had happened. All the terrible things. Surely it could only get better.

For him, behind every feeling and thought was the sense of the open door leading into nothingness. To be sure, he suffered from dread of many things, of madness, the police, insomnia, and also dread of death. But everything he dreaded he likewise desired and longed for at the same time. He was full of burning curiosity about suffering, destruction, persecution, madness and death.

For those who think religious people live in a constant state of fear and quaking, compare Ps 111:10 to Ps 112:7. There, you will find that the person who fears God will not fear anyone, or anything else. This is not living in fear. By choosing one fear, they are liberated from the many fears.

And Quaid knew, meeting the clown's vacant stare through an air turned bloody, that there was worse in the world than dread. Worse than death itself. There was pain without hope of healing. There was life that refused to end, long after the mind had begged the body to cease. And worst, there were dreams come true.

Her laughter was an upbeat song set to a minor key.

He [satan] vies for the bedside position, hopping to be the first voice you hear. He covets your waking thoughts, those early, pillow-born emotions. He awakes you with words of worry, stirs you with thoughts of stress. If you dread the day before you begin your day, Mark it down; your giant has been in your head.

I dread the beginning of her new life more than words can tell, but I see some hope for her if she travels - none if she remains at home.

I don’t like it. I would prefer no one else became tied up in this. But some things can’t be helped. War is harsh.” “We’re not at war.” “Yet.