Best 155 quotes in «dread quotes» category

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

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 is anxiety on steroids.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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 don't want anything to happen to you. You being hurt...that thought fills me with dread. I can't promise not to interfere, not if I think you'll come to harm." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "I love you, Anastasia. I will do everything in my power to protect you. I cann't imagine my life without you.

I dread having to call the police, as I have no idea if they will send good cop, bad cop, lying cop, incompetent cop, aggressive cop, assaulting cop, corrupt cop, or the worst one of them all, the terminator cop.

I dread to think of a society devoid of love, compassion and humanity.

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.

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.

In cases of distasteful occupation, the second day is generally worse than the first; we return to the rack with all the soreness of the preceding torture in our limbs.

If I were to reduce all my feelings and their painful conflicts to a single name, I can think of no other word but: dread. It was dread, dread and uncertainty, that I felt in all those hours of shattered childhood felicity: dread of punishment, dread of my own conscience, dread of stirrings in my soul which I considered forbidden and criminal.

I forgot to sup annoyance from his glass full of mingled dread and rage Now let me take a small draught of solace from my own little cup full of predicaments! From the poem- Draught

If we always live in constant fear then we might miss the beauty of the moment right now, right here.

Individuals who rate high on the so-called Anxiety Sensitivity Index, or ASI, have a high degree of what's known as interoceptive awareness, meaning they are highly attuned to the inner workings on their bodies, to the beepings and bleatings, the blips and burps, of their physiologies; they are more conscious of their heart rate, blood pressure, digestive burblings, and so forth than other people are.

It is good to stay in a peaceful poverty than to stay in a painful wealth.

It’s like I’m on a roller-coaster ride, but I’m not allowed to get off. I’m strapped to the seat, and within eyesight the unfinished twirl of the track swirls into the air.

I was starting to hate my sixteenth birthday. A poufy white dress and a cake with roses made out of pink icing and awkward dancing with boys in awkward suits was starting to sound like a great alternative. Seriously. Sign my up, I wouldn't even complain.

It's spider season. Every year, right about now, thousands of the godless eight-legged bastards emerge from the bowels of hell (or the garden, whichever's nearest) with the sole intention of tormenting humankind.

It was a myth you couldn't function on opiates: shooting up was one thing but for someone like me-jumping at pigeons beating from the sidewalk, afflicted with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder practically to the point of spasticity and cerebral palsy-pills were the key to being not only competent, but high-functioning.

Love comes and goes, pitching its mansion. And on the circular track of days, it appears that Dread is gaining on Devotion every second.

My mother once told me as a child that you can tell who is coming by the mere sound of their footsteps. I remember looking at her incredulously, my short curls bouncing in agreement with my dissent. Yet, upon her departure, I heard in her footsteps the essence of Mom. Ever since, I would know who was approaching down the hall of our home without prior visual identification. And the footsteps I heard at the entrance of the bookstore carried the vague echo of a memory that promised dread.

I was filled with a sense of doom that dragged my heart down into my boots

My birthday was coming up and we hadn't talked about it. I dreaded it. I was in no mood to celebrate the one day that always reminded me of my unfortunate birth. Celebrations were supposed to be happy things and there was nothing happy about this year or that day.

Imagine experiencing pervasive and perpetual sensations of dread and shame, the sort of visceral response that you might have when your body reacts to a physical threat. Envision how distressing it would be if you experienced these exact same feelings after viewing yourself in a reflective surface or a photograph. Imagine what it might be like if your body was the source of extreme feelings of anger, disgust, anxiety, fear, and hopelessness. Try to visualize how it might be if viewing your outward appearance triggered a reaction usually associated with a perilous situation, and how disconcerting it would be if every time you looked at yourself you experienced primal feelings of terror. If you have not had such an experience, it is probably quite difficult to comprehend how it is possible to have such a reaction to one's own body. This, though, is the very tormenting reality for individuals who suffer from body dysmorphic disorder (BDD).

Nonetheless, it left him with a terrible doubt, a fear that inhabited every scene.

Nobody wants to be alone. Sure, we fill our lives with people, faces that come and go, we love a lot only to lose more in the end, and if we’re smart—really smart—we take our victories where we get them. But beneath our skins, we siren.

Panic and terror aren't the only kinds of fear. There are deeper kinds, more terrible kinds. Apprehension and heavy, heavy dread.

Now it was there. Now it was growing within me like a tumor, like a second head, and it was a part of me, though it surely could not be mine, since it was so big. There it was, like a big dead animal that had once been my hand when it was still alive, or my arm. And my blood was flowing through me, and through it, as if through one and the same body. And my heart was having to make a great effort to pump the blood into the big thing: there was very nearly not enough blood. And the blood was loth to pass in, and emerged sick and tainted. But the big thing swelled and grew before my face, like a warm, bluish boil, and grew before my mouth, and already its margin cast a shadow on my remaining eye.

One can only worry so much, however; then one becomes philosophical. I suppose philosophy is merely sublimated worry.

Paranoia. The more you think of an imaginary problem, the more you feel as though it’s real –

Paul Virilio and I, in our different ways, share an intense interest in the changes brought about by technological innovation, by cultural and social upheavals, by natural catastrophes like earthquakes and the social and architectural responses to them. I see these extreme cases as the avant-garde of a coming normality, one that we must engage creatively now, inventing new languages, rules and methods, if we are to preserve what is essential to our humanity, that is, compassion, reason, independence of thought and action.

Only the cruelest hunters set their traps with terror and trepidation.

Postpartum depression makes a woman feel like she is in the grip of something dreaded and dark, and it's scary. . . but she's likely ashamed to admit it because she can't explain it!

Terrible sadness, dread, an agonizing desire for happiness swelled in his heart.

Sometimes", said Miss Phillips, "the thing you dread doing the very thing you should do, just so you can stop thinking about it.

thakrar noun - The precise point of the spectrum of awe at which wonder turns to dread, or dread to wonder. Archaic; from the estatic priestesses of Thakra, worshippers of the seraphim, whose ritual dance expressed the dualism of beauty and terror.

Some dark Presence watching by my bed, The awful image of a nameless dread ―

The antidote to joy is dread.

The blessings of the devil is the beginning of dread.

... the nearness of the wound to the gift,

The contrast between the friendly greeting and the weapons propped against their shoulders is almost humorous.

There is more than one way to lose your life; quickly through violence, or fettered-away and wasted around dreadful, toxic people.

There is no delight the equal of dread. As long as it's someone else's.

There is nothing which I dread so much as a division of the republic into two great parties, each arranged under its leader, and concerting measures in opposition to each other. This, in my humble apprehension, is to be dreaded as the greatest political evil under our Constitution.