Best 219 quotes in «creepy quotes» category

We live in a society now where the sexual taboo for children has really passed by the wayside. Any nineyear-old can go into a 7-11 and check out the Playmate of the Month, but you don't want your kids to know about death. You don't want your kids to know about disfigurement. You don't want 'em to know about creepy things because it might warp their little minds.

We knew that we were kind of odd and creeps, and we wanted to do odd, creepy stuff for people who wanted to see that.

What was I up to, you may ask? I certainly didn't want to meet Monsieur Evil again or creepy old Lord Salamander.

We're all trapped. It's always 1734. All of us, we're stuck in the same time capsule, the same as those television shows where the same people are marooned on the same desert island for thirty seasons and never age or escape. They just wear more makeup. In a creepy way, those shows are maybe too authentic.

Women always try to see the one good part of The Weird Guy because the dating landscape is so bleak. Women will say, 'He's very odd, but he likes to cook. He's creepy, but he makes good pancakes!'

When I was a kid, before there were VCRt, my parents had a movie projector, and we'd watch Frankenstein and Dracula. I just always though that stuff was cool - creepy comics and monsters and horrific stuff. Music lends itself to that whole theme.

William Howard Taft, who he embarrassed in these congressional hearings, attacks him as an emotionalist and a socialist and a cosmopolitan in terms that kind of have an anti-Semitic overtone. And even the pro-Brandeis press supported him in terms that really seem creepy today. There's this piece from Life magazine. It says, "Mr. Brandeis is a Jew. And until now there's never been a Jew on the Supreme Court. Perhaps it's time we have one.

When I came up with the concept of 'The Dream,' on the surface he just seemed like another creepy bad man or villain. It had to be played by someone larger than life, but not malicious. And Keanu Reeves is that person to me, and he was The Dream like I wanted The Dream.

You have a strange relationship with calamity when you're a writer: you write about it; as an artist, you objectify and fetishize it. You render life into material, and that's a creepy thing to do.

You know how everybody has that one weird creepy uncle? Well, Seth Green looks like he got raped by all of them.

You kind of invite a little spooky, creepy vibe into your whole experience of making a movie.

Ah yes…” He made an exaggerated nod. “I was supposed to be filling you in on Nangí’s story.” He winked at me playfully, as I kept up my glare. “Now, where should I begin?” “Tell you what, let me get you started,” I came back. “Once upon a time, there was this über-creepy old man—who looks like he lives in a haunted shack and eats small children for breakfast—and I decided to make him my new best friend becaaauuse… Okay, your turn.

You never think of films being really creepy that you're in because you just remember the funny stuff.

You’re playing the creepy vibe a little hard,” I said. “Might as well go for broke, put on a black top hat and pipe in some organ music.

You've gotta wonder what kind of vibe you're putting out there if you're having really creepy people come talk to you.

And as he leaned in to kiss me, my eye saw his open mouth grow larger and larger until it seemed it could swallow me whole.

Am I sounding creepy? Love is sort of creepy. When you fall in love, you presuppose all sorts of things about the person. You superimpose all kinds of ideals and fantasies on them. You create all manner of unrealistic, untenable, unsatisfiable criteria for that person, automatically guaranteeing their failure and your heartbreak. And what do we call it? Romance. Now that’s creepy.

A little boy who's discovered the monster under the bed is actually real, and it's screwing Mommy.

And feast on the dead, I thought with a shudder. As if he could read my thoughts, he pressed a hand to my shoulder. His fingers were long and white, splaying over my arm like a waxen spider. If the gesture was meant to comfort me, it failed.

And I had the most disconcerting sensation: that in my memory she would look up from that game of solitaire and the sockets of her eyes would be empty.

Bad art is always basically creepy; that is its first and most obvious identifying sign

And the box inside him in which his mother resides is velvet and black and without size.

Art is not cosy and it is not mocked. Art tells the only truth that ultimately matters. It is the light by which human things can be mended. And after art there is, let me assure you all, nothing.

Ask yourself what a man without guile might do to your body in the dark.

Cemeteries can be creepy, creepy, ‘specially at night.

Careful,” he said. “If you keep blushing like that I may do more than just draw you.

Bodies lay in the sun. Bodies stood in the sun.

Clay snorted. “Special powers like what?” he’d asked. “You know,” Starflight had answered, irritated. “Telepathy? Precognition? Invisibility? Hello?” “You don’t have invisibility,” Clay had argued. “I mean, you’re a black dragon. You’re just hard to see in the shadows. That’s not a power. I’d be invisible, too, if I were lying in a mud puddle.” “Yeah, well,” Starflight had said, “we can appear out of nowhere in the dark of night! Swooping down as if the sky has just fallen on you!” He’d spread his wings majestically. “Still not a power,” Clay had said. “That’s just you guys being creepy.” “It is not creepy!” Starflight had cried, his voice rising. “It is magnificent and imposing!

Directing a funeral isn’t about death at all. Funerals are for the living, not the dead.

Come out, come out, wherever you are... come out, come out, or you'll end up in the tar...

Conquest was not satisfying if it began with a surrender.

Creepy is being attached to an outcome. If you approach someone with the goal of sex, and hten find thins not going in that direction, you may try to steer things back to sex. This is creepy.

Creepy keeps creeping across the cold cobbles. Watch how he creeps and be sure he hasn’t crept up on you.

David!" Xander yelled, because he had to yell something. His eyes snapped back to the figure in the upstairs doorway, but it was gone. "What do you want?" David asked. "I...were you just upstairs?" "I haven't looked up there yet." "But I just saw you up there.

Do I detect a renewal of your fighting spirit? I'm so glad. To tell the truth, I've been getting quite bored. Bring it on, Grace--I'm waiting for you.

Falling in love IS bizarre and creepy

Fancies find room in the strongest minds. Here, in a churchyard old as civilization, in the worst of weathers, was a strange woman of curious fascinations never seen elsewhere: there might be some devilry about her presence.

He once again pointed to that creepy theatrical smile. There were way too many teeth there. It made him look positively demented.

For a guy who claimed not to be a stalker he sure knows the tricks of the trade. Give up the Ghost

Fear of night. Fear of not night.

He must have pressed the wrong button, or several of them, for when the door fretted open he found himself deep underground, with no heart to try again. The corridor was dark, the air heavy with must, the rooms on both sides quiet yet stirring, as though numb people within were digging themselves out.

He smirked. “Decision time, pretty lady... back to reality?” She touched his cheek. “Or down the rabbit hole?

His body walks out onto the darkened stage , and a roar goes up from the crowd. He stands in front of the mic, and he can feel his face twist in a sneer-the Elvis sneer from his dreams-though he never told it to move. He is powerless now, a spectator at his own moment of glory.

He touched himself and smiled wickedly. The filthy thoughts that went through his mind are not worth mentioning.

Hug the devil, and feel more power than life ever granted you

I closed my eyes, but that didn't blur the images his words had evoked. "Oh, God," I murmured. "God," he said, "had nothing to do with it at all.

I am not my winged eyes neither my soft skin, I am the stories you just couldn’t read in them, I am the bruises, I am the scars that burdened deep within. I am not my pretty face, I am the weird expressions that caught your eyes. I am not my laughs, and I am not my smiles, I am the weeps and sighs that you couldn’t hear. I am not my silence and I am not my wise words, I am the screams and curses that lay under my tongue. I am much more than what your eyes could see and I wonder if you would still fall in each world is hidden there inside of me …

I'll do it!" "No, you won't," Shane and Michael said, at virtually the same time. Shane continued. "You're barely on your feet, Claire. You don't go anywhere, not without me." "And me," Michael said. "Hell," Eve sighed. "I guess that means I have to go, too. Which I may not ever forgive you for, even if I don't die horribly." Myrnin stared at each of them in turn. "You'd go. All of you." His lips stretched into a crazy, rubber-doll smile. "You are the best toys, you know. I can't imagine how much fun it will be to play with you." Silence, and then Eve said, "Okay, that was extra creepy, with whipped creepy topping. And this is me, changing my mind.

If he had spent just a little less time wrapped up in his thoughts, he never would have ignored the shadow that crept up on him, with hands made of darkness stretched and at the ready to separate him from his job by the most effective means of unemployment there has ever been.

If that is scary I really don't understand you, the idea is the lesson.