Best 755 quotes in «monsters quotes» category

Solomon breathed a sigh of relief ever so slightly, thankful that the cricket had not been eaten. Not that he was concerned for the cricket being eaten. No, he was simply relieved that the voice in the closet, which could be a monster, had not eaten it. If the voice had eaten the cricket, that meant that he was a monster that eats things in the night, and Solomon too could be eaten. Being eaten by a closet monster was perhaps the scariest thing that could happen to an elephant, not to mention a cricket, as far as Solomon was concerned.

Somehow her hula hoop had cut into the driver’s side door like the vehicle was made of cheese.

Some monsters disguise themselves so well you don’t realize that they’re monsters until it’s too late. You check all of the usual places: under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain, around that suspicious, dark corner of your room. No, some monsters don’t look like monsters at all. But they are, have been, and always will be there.

...something more than the sum of its parts-

Sometimes monsters are things people should be scared of, but they aren't.

Sometimes, humans were more monstrous than anything else.

Sometimes, monsters needed to die.

Sometimes murderers just do not murder the right person, which is a shame...

So, no mutated zombie animals like in Resident Evil?

Somewhere in this world there exists an exceptional philosopher named Florie Rotondo. The other day I came across one of her ruminations printed in a magazine devoted to the writings of schoolchildren. It said: “If I could do anything, I would go to the middle of our planet, Earth, and seek uranium, rubies, and gold. I'd look for Unspoiled Monsters. Then I'd move to the country. --Florie Rotondo, age 8.” Florie, honey, I know just what you mean – even if you don’t: how could you, age eight?

Soon, all the children were chanting it. “No school! No school!

Start by pulling him out of the fire and hoping that he will forget the smell. He was supposed to be an angel but they took him from that light and turned him into something hungry, something that forgets what his hands are for when they aren’t shaking. He will lose so much, and you will watch it all happen because you had him first, and you would let the world break its own neck if it means keeping him. Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and pretending to understand. Repeat to yourself “I won’t leave you, I won’t leave you” until you fall asleep and dream of the place where nothing is red. When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it. Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep. Here are your upturned hands. Give them to him and watch how he prays like he is learning his first words. Start by pulling him out of another fire, and putting him back together with the pieces you find on the floor. There is so much to forgive, but you do not know how to forget. When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you are the reason it has become so mangled. Here is your humble offering, obliterated and broken in the mouth of this abandoned church. He has come back to stop the world from turning itself inside out, and you love him, you do, so you won’t let him. Tell him that you will never know any better.

That, my dear detective, was the other San Francisco. You've probably seen it before, just out of the corner of your eye. You've probably dismissed it all your life. Maybe you always told yourself you'd just had too much to drink." She paused, her gaze heavy on his face. MacMillian squirmed. "But I'm guessing you always knew better." His head was throbbing. He shook it once, twice, but it didn't clear. "I don't get it, Miss..." "Alan," she supplied. He nodded. "Ms. Alan. Why are you here?" Her eyes darkened. "Because there are things that go bump in the night, Mr. MacMillian. It's my job to bump back.

The architecture of the Minotaur’s heart is ancient. Rough hewn and many chambered, his heart is a plodding laborious thing, built for churning through the millennia. But the blood it pumps—the blood it has pumped for five thousand years, the blood it will pump for the rest of his life—is nearly human blood. It carries with it, through his monster’s veins, the weighty, necessary, terrible stuff of human existence: fear, wonder, hope, wickedness, love. But in the Minotaur’s world it is far easier to kill and devour seven virgins year after year, their rattling bones rising at his feet like a sea of cracked ice, than to accept tenderness and return it.

The best way to cleanse the world from monsters is by not becoming one.

The crowd bit and scratched anyone they came into contact with, but mostly they grabbed and ate people. It was like a scene from a horror movie. People were running for their lives in every direction. It was every man and woman for himself or herself. No one helped anyone. About a minute later, there was no safe direction to go because those monsters were everywhere.

The demon blood inside me burned my soul to ashes long ago. I am a monster who once dreamed he was a man. Never mistake me again.

The dragon without St. George would not even be grotesque.

So when she looked in the mirror one day, and saw the beginning of thorny protrusions on her legs, a slight greenish tinge to her skin, she sighed. It was inevitable. - The Monster In Her Bedroom, Havok Magazine, Issue 1.1

The doors closed behind him, and Kelvin was swallowed into the elevator shaft that took him back down to the belly of his self-made monster.

The dragon, you know, hunkered in the village devouring maidens, heard the townsfolk cry 'Monster!' and looked behind him.

The land is thirsty. People are thirsty. But only blood will bring back the rain.

The Greeks had Hydra and Cyclops. We have Nietzsche and Pessoa: monsters of introspection and thought.

The less you knew, the fewer monsters you’d attract,

The monsters were never under our bed, but in the forest our future.

The monsters in our valley were destroyed that day. Only a very few survived. But that was all right, because we didn't need monsters anymore. We had become them.

The monsters were never under my bed. Because the monsters were inside my head. I fear no monsters, for no monsters I see. Because all this time the monster has been me.

The more monsterous humanity gets, the more nicer monsters become

The monsters are gone." "Really?" Doubtful. "I killed the monsters. That's what fathers do.

The most fearsome monsters of all may inhabit the dark corners of our mind waiting for us to release them through our believes and gullibility. the phenomenon feeds on fear and believe. Sometimes it destroys us altogether other times it leads us upwards into the labyrinth of electromagnetic frequencies that form a curtain in the area we call windows and stalk us to drink our blood and create all kinds of mischievous beliefs and misconceptions in our feeble little terrestrial minds.

The power of monsters is their ability to fuse opposites, to merge contraries, to subvert rules, to overthrow cognitive barriers, moral distinction, and ontological categories. Monsters overcome the barrier of time itself. Uniting past and present, demonic and divine, guilt and conscience, predator and prey, parent and child, self and alien, our monsters are our innermost selves.

The most gentle creatures in the world, are sometimes the most feared

The only monsters in this world are men and myths.

The only thing that will ever be real, is this moment,' I turned to the statue, 'when you made me feel alive, when you made me feel real, when I felt like you really love me. Now? I'm just your monster, Frankie. I will always be a monster.

Sometimes, the only way to solve your problems in life, the only way to conquer your fears, is if you face them. If you face your problems, they just flee. But if you flee instead, run away from them, they only get bigger, and they can totally destroy you.

There are no monsters, Doctor,' she spluttered. Yeah, There are,' he said. 'Some of them are just better at hiding than others. And then there are the ones we wouldn't know if we saw them.

There are no monsters in the dark.

The real monsters are born, not made. They are the ones who watch behind friendly faces. The ones who come for the innocent trying to steal everything they have, be it their most treasured possessions, their honour or their lives. Not because they must, not because their very existence relies on it but simply because there is a thrill in it for them. To watch a man pierced by wrath and greed die a lonely death, to watch a woman pierced by lust and anger whimper away in fear. It thrills them to watch man burn and bleed. Real monsters love to turn the sound of beautiful life into many a terrified scream.

There are many monsters, oh, many!

The reason Armand Gamache could go there was because it wasn't totally foreign to him. He knew it because he’d seen his own burned terrain, he’d walked off the familiar and comfortable path inside his own head and heart and seen what festered in the dark. And one day Jean Guy Beauvoir would look at his own monsters, and then be able to recognize others. And maybe this was the day and this was the case. He hoped so.

The reason I dedicate myself to helping animals so much is because there are already so many people dedicated to hurting them. ~♥~ EDS

There is no code among men because there are no men anymore. Only monsters who sit behind their desks and give orders.

There is a loneliness that must be particular to monsters, I think, the feeling that each is the only child of a species. And now that loneliness was over.

There is no elegance in this existence, nor grace in our lives. There is nothing poetic about feasting on blood that spills from torn flesh...

There’s nothing wrong with you at all. Sometimes people say or do things that are mean because there's something the matter with them. With Lydia, it seems there’s always something wrong with her.

The report made them out to be monsters, although there was another untold side to the story, their side. It did not matter. Their side would probably never be told.

There's nothing we fear more than our own Reflection. We scream at the monsters within us, hidden deep within our hearts. We run and hide from the terrors all around us- the different mirrors that we see.

There was one less monster on earth, and the world was certainly better off without him.

There was a monster in me that had to be fed by success. There is a monster in us all that has to be fed by something.

There were monsters in the night but there were monsters in the day too, and monsters inside people who smiled and showed you all their teeth like they were nice. There were monsters inside Alice, but they only had power if she gave it to them, and other things had power too, like the laughter of children enjoying a picnic together and like the love she had for this terrible, wonderful, imperfect man, this man who hid inside the body of a wolf because he thought that was where he belonged.