Best 755 quotes in «monsters quotes» category

Hän piirsi ensimmäisen hirviön hirviön leuat jäykät ja metalliset ja niiden välissä kieli värähteli tätä hirviötä oli mahdollista soittaa Hän piirsi toisen hirviön sen silmät ja suu olivat väärissä paikoissa, silmät kämmenissä ja suu rintakehässä. Oli mahdotonta auttaa sen silmät oikeille paikoilleen sillä se söi suuhunsa auttajan. Se oli torjuva. Hän piirsi kolmannen hirviön ja hänen kynänsä pysähtyi. Hän nousi ja käveli puoliympyrän, sitten takaisin samaa reittiä, hän oli jaloillaan piirtänyt hirviön verkkokalvon. Niin suuri oli hirviön silmä. Hirviö oli omassa näkökentässään ja kaikkeus jäi sen näkökentän ulkopuolelle Hän ahtoi kaikkeuden rakettiinsa ja kiihdytti sen valon nopeuteen ja siirtyi itse ajassa. Hän söi hirviön kämmeneltä. Hirviö söi hänen kämmeneltään.

He fought to destroy those monsters, yet found they never seemed to die—rising anew every dawn.

He had found his monsters, and now was the time to leave them behind.

He had become a moster, happily, for just a moment of having his head above water.

He had hundreds of monsters inside him wearing his face as a mask. Screaming and trying to tear him apart and take his place. He always fought furiously to hold them back and it created an unending chaos inside him. Eventually, in the end, he lost all his strength and battles. He was dragged down into the abyss. He cried and fought hard to find his way back home. To get out from there again and to be himself. But among all these masks, the real he was lost forever. He never made it back again, and he was not himself anymore.

He is a demon, Clarissa,” said Valentine, still in the same soft voice. “A demon with a man’s face. I know how deceptive such monsters can be. Remember, I spared him once myself.” “Monster?” echoed Clary. She thought of Luke, Luke pushing her on the swings when she was five years old, higher, always higher; Luke at her graduation from middle school, camera clicking away like a proud father’s; Luke sorting through each box of books as it arrived at his store, looking for anything she might like and putting it aside. Luke lifting her up to pull apples down from the trees near his farmhouse. Luke, whose place as her father this man was trying to take. “Luke isn’t a monster,” she said in a voice that matched Valentine’s, steel for steel. “Or a murderer. You are.” “Clary!” It was Jace. Clary ignored him. Her eyes were fixed on her father’s cold black ones. “You murdered your wife’s parents, not in battle but in cold blood,” she said. “And I bet you murdered Michael Wayland and his little boy, too. Threw their bones in with my grandparents’ so that my mother would think you and Jace were dead. Put your necklace around Michael Wayland’s neck before you burned him so everyone would think those bones were yours. After all your talk about the untainted blood of the Clave — you didn’t care at all about their blood or their innocence when you killed them, did you? Slaughtering old people and children in cold blood, that’s monstrous.

He knelt among the shadows and felt his isolation bitterly. They were savages it was true; but they were human.

He leaned towards me, and I did what any reasonable person would do when facing imminent death by being eaten alive. I screamed.

He looks like the bloke next door, was Sparks's first thought. But then, monsters rarely look the part. You hope you'll be able to see the evil shining out of them. It would make police work a damn sight easier, he often said. But evil was a slippery substance, glimpsed only occasionally, and all the more horrifying for that, he knew.

He looks at Mr. Vacanti and the man looks back at him with somehow gentle eyes. It surprises David to see the man has gentle eyes. It surprises him, even at thirty-seven, to discover that monsters can have gentle eyes. Something is terribly wrong with a world where monsters are allowed to have gentle eyes.

Her nausea increased, the dialect had become unfamiliar, the way our wet throats bathed the words in the liquid of saliva was intolerable. A sense of repulsion had invested all the bodies in movement, their bone structure, the frenzy that shook them. How poorly made we are, she thought, how insufficient. The broad shoulders, the arms, the legs, the ears, noses, eyes, seemed to her attributes of monstrous beings who had fallen from some corner of the black sky.

Here there was no monster greater than the ragged mountains.

Her stories were made of badass women teasing monsters and running wild with dragons.

Hermes made it sound pretty ridiculous—hordes of monsters going up in the elevator twenty at a time, listening to “Stayin’ Alive.

Hiding from the monsters only made them stronger.

He stands alone in hollow gloom, with the sound of his own breath whispering down unseen passages ahead and behind and to both sides, wondering how he stumbled into this blackest of all labyrinths. He entered by choice. We all do. Whether we are mapping the heavens or skulking the lanes of the underworld, whether we are hunting the imprisoned fiend or have ourselves become the monster, whether we are searching for what is lost or hiding what must never be found, we all round that first corner by choice - and by then, we are lost. You too. You must decide what is false and what is true, and what is true for me but not for you. We are wandering the mazes, all of us, and we cannot hope to escape until we learn to tell between what is real and what is real for someone else. There lies the madness, and the truth as well.

He thought of the deep crevasses and windy caves of Underlay, and the stories of the creatures that dwelt there. Of course, he didn’t believe in them. He’d told them, because the handing on of an oral mythology was very important to a developing culture, but he didn’t believe in supernatural monsters. He shivered. He hoped they didn’t believe in him.

He was colossal (apparently they felt behemoth was easier to spell).

He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” (Friedrich Nietzsche)

How different this world to the one about which I used to read, and in which I used to live! This is one peopled by demons, phantoms, vampires, ghouls, boggarts, and nixies. Names of things of which I knew nothing are now so familiar that the creatures themselves appear to have real existence. The Arabian Nights are not more fantastic than our gospels; and Lempriere would have found ours a more marvelous world to catalog than the classical mythical to which he devoted his learning. Ours is a world of luprachaun and clurichaune, deev and cloolie, and through the maze of mystery I have to thread my painful way, now learning how to distinguish oufe from pooka, and nis from pixy; study long screeds upon the doings of effreets and dwergers, or decipher the dwaul of delirious monks who have made homunculi from refuse. Waking or sleeping, the image of some uncouth form is always present to me. What would I not give for a volume by the once despised 'A. L. O. E' or prosy Emma Worboise? Talk of the troubles of Winifred Bertram or Jane Eyre, what are they to mine? Talented authoresses do not seem to know that however terrible it may be to have as a neighbour a mad woman in a tower, it is much worse to have to live in a kitchen with a crocodile. This elementary fact has escaped the notice of writers of fiction; the re-statement of it has induced me to reconsider my decision as to the most longed-for book; my choice now is the Swiss Family Robinson. In it I have no doubt I should find how to make even the crocodile useful, or how to kill it, which would be still better. ("Mysterious Maisie")

Humans and their wars. You call me monster, , but look what you've gone and done to one another! Good riddance to you now and, if I'm lucky, forever. Have your war. I'll have my radish stew.

Human beings are no damn good,” he said. “We are even worse than animals. We like ...” He trailed off, cleared his throat, but his voice hardly reached a whisper. “We like monsters,” he said.

I cannot be assured of exactly what I created be it madness and monster or beauty and light.

I am a monster because I have too much of something.

Iapetus shall crush you!” one shouted. “Who?” I asked. Then I ran her through with my sword. Note to self: If you vaporize monsters, they can’t answer your questions.

I can smell your blood now. I can smell it in every room of the house.

I can turn into anything," he said with emphasis. "Even another werewolf." When Daisy blinked back at him, too dumbfounded to speak, Talent laughed, heartily. She'd been correct. He was devastating when he truly smiled. "Haven't you learned, woman? You've fallen off the map. Here there be monsters.

I do not sleep because I am not only afraid of the monsters at my door, but also of the monsters my own mind can conjure. The ones that live within.

I come from a long line of body snatchers, probably the top-notch body snatchers in America. No make that the world. Some people might think it's gross digging up bones or corpses, but who asked them? It's no big deal, but then I've been doing it since I got out of diapers.

I’d gone with my usual option. I was running through long tunnels filled with demons and monsters and nightmares, because it was easier than going to the gym.

I do believe losing your head has made you more intelligent.

If a point of view becomes one’s entire identity, what was monstrous on the inside can become monstrous on the outside.

I don't remember a single monster before I met you.' he'd told Amphibian. 'Now they seem to be all over the place.' 'You mean there wasn't anything you were afraid of?' the Amphibian had asked him. 'lots.' 'What did they look like?' It was a funny question. 'They didn't look like anything. They were ideas,' Tom told him. 'Like not being able to pay rent, or being lonely.' 'That's the most terrifying thing I've ever heard.' the Amphibian replied.

I don't respect these monsters but I weep anyway. I curl my fingers in so that my palms bleed, because I have been afraid of this whole entire life, of being a pretty little thing. being a pretty thing is a problem. no one wants you, not even the dead.

I don’t know what that thing is, but I know you aren’t it. You care too much about the world and the people in it. All that cared about was killing.”, Jack Simple to Celestra Caine in FADE by Kailin Gow

I don't want your love unless you know I am repulsive, and love me even as you know it.

If there really are such creatures in here, it would be the discovery of a lifetime.’ 'If there really are such creatures in here,’ Sally countered, 'your lifetime might be very short.

If there are ten thousand medieval peasants who create vampires by believing them real, there may be one–probably a child–who will imagine the stake necessary to kill it. But a stake is only stupid wood; the mind is the mallet which drives it home.

If they want a monster so badly they ought to be provided by one.

I just wonder… Isn’t it better to start as a monster and become a hero? Isn’t that what creates belief? The idea that someone can change?

I have lain long here in your mind, longer than any nightmare has before me. I have sunk my roots into your worst imaginings and feasted on your memories. I know you, child.

I knew that monsters were far more gentle and more desirable than the monsters living inside ‘nice people.’ Accepting that you are a monster gives you the leeway to not behave like one. When you deny being a monster, you behave like one.

I had managed to scare even the monsters, and when you can scare monsters, you can be sure you've become one yourself.

I have learned it’s best to face down the trouble. Otherwise it will grow into a monster. We don’t have time for monsters.

I know.” His hand ran across the floor, making shapes in the nonexistent dust. “Have you ever seen those shows starring serial-killer main characters? Dexter? Hannibal? Some of those sexy vampire ones the mafia funds to lure victims to them? They make all sorts of excuses for the serial killers. ‘It’s okay, he’s killing bad guys.’ ‘It’s okay, because it happened offscreen.’ I hate those. I hate when people do that to me. When they try to make me sympathetic, moralize all the decisions that aren’t moral.

I pass the torch to the monster, the beast, the phantasm, #RedButtons who lurks behind the eyes of the pedophile priest. You just continue raping the children. Softening their flesh with fear. I'll stop by once in a while. See if, I don't know, they are tired of "IT" and want to come with me, where they'll make a delicious addition to my carpet of bones.

I'll investigate, but I've still got to be cautious, because a monster in one's lap isn't always a good thing.

I'm a little monster. Cuddling is my specail attack. #cuddlemonster

I'm going to be a fairy.” Sarah announced, studying her file. "What a surprise.” Nicole mumbled, closing the door.

I might be capable of making figures that have heart, conscience, passion, emotion and decency. But there's no call for that at all in the world. People are only interested in monsters and freaks, so I give them their monsters. Monsters are what they want!