Best 5862 quotes in «dark quotes» category

(...) ha! what is hope? a butterfly in a box of demons, and nothing escapes the dark untainted, a mockery of politics and greed stamped with treason and dipped in myths and force-fed brainwashing going off after a time for the grand massacre of faith, humanity, and still we search, scorched feet for life but find only fake plastic trees satirical, ludicrous, and ironic

Hearts aren't created hard. They grow that way when they're repeatedly used and abused. It's a survival mechanism. - The Malwatch

HEARTWORK Each day is born with a sunrise and ends in a sunset, the same way we open our eyes to see the light, and close them to hear the dark. You have no control over how your story begins or ends. But by now, you should know that all things have an ending. Every spark returns to darkness. Every sound returns to silence. And every flower returns to sleep with the earth. The journey of the sun and moon is predictable. But yours, is your ultimate ART.

Hearts aren't content just to beat a steady rhythm until they whither and die. Let them race in wonder. - The Malwatch

He begins to want. He begins to crave. He wants to possess. His mind finally begins to process, to think and plan...He gives her his darkest, most serious look. He's telling her 'get ready, here we go.

He belongs to a whorehouse, not in my heart

He didn’t like the idea of leaving unfinished business behind. He had wanted definite answers about the heart attacks to be able to turn the page on who or what caused so many of his brothers to die.

He doesn't have a soul?" she shrieked, horrified. "That explains why he's such a dick," Tree muttered.

He gets away with it because he's strong.' 'This is the story of mankind.' 'I thought you were going to be a priest at one point.' 'Yes. But then I read the newspaper.

He had to get inside. It was essential that he know everything, the routes she took, her schedule, and the lay of the land. The silver moon glowed overhead, mocking him. Somewhere in the trees an owl hooted its laughter at his failure. Randy--from Spring Cleaning--Coming Summer 2012

He kissed me. He kissed me like a thousand promises were being exchanged through that one kiss.

He laughed then. It was the first time I’d ever heard his laugh, a lovely dark sound that rippled through the air. “Well, that part definitely isn’t true.

He kissed her, and the magic that had been building up steadily around them exploded, raining down in arcs of silver fire that made her half-remember a prophecy from her dreams. One by one, they all will die. Something had been set into motion.

Hell's got high waters ever since humans tried to free it over. - The Malwatch

He may take long walks in the raining dark almost aimlessly to a spot of soaked grass in a neighbor’s open field. He’s decided this is the place for you and him to meet again.

He peered into the night-dark windows of the afflicted girls, whispering names and stirring fits into their dreams until their own screams awakened them. The girls concocted fantastic stories of witches and curses and torture at the hands of specters. More accusers joined their ranks without his nurturing, puppets of their own envy. Such imagination, such dedication to the destruction of their own. And all in his name. It touched his dark soul.

He placed his hands to his belt buckle and undid it. “Just be careful, Red. This isn’t a fairytale. No one will save you, if you decide to see how sharp the wolf’s teeth really are.

He preferred to give in the light,because when it was dark, he was afraid his giving would go unnoticed

Here’s another big symbol,” she says, still crouched and looking up at me. “These flowers will be rotten in a couple hours. Birds will crap on them. The smoke here will make them stink, and tomorrow a bulldozer will probably run over them, but for right now they are so beautiful.

Her exceptional beauty also helps her to keep her secrets. Most people tend to think the best of those who are blessed with beauty; we have difficulty imagining that physical perfection can conceal twisted emotions or a damaged mind.

Here we are, at the place where I get to beg for it. Where I get to say ‘Please, for just one night, will you lay down next to me? We can leave our clothes on, we can stay all buttoned up?’ But we both know how it goes – I say I want you inside me and you hold my head underwater. I say I want you inside me and you split me open with a knife.

Her life has seen little light. She is twelve years old but has a woman’s weathered poise. Her abyss-blue eyes have a piercing focus that some adults find unsettling. [...] She has fired a gun into a human head. She has watched a pile of bodies set alight. She has starved and thirsted, stolen food and given it away, and glimpsed the meaning of life by watching it end over and over.

Heritage was everything: it was a golden skeleton key, gleaming with power, able to get the wielder through any number of locked doors; it was the christening of the marriage bed with virgin blood on snow-white sheets; it was the benediction of a pristine pedigree, refined through ages of selective breeding and the occasional mercy culling. It was life, and death, and all that spanned between. It was his birthright.

Her screams spiraled up into the night air

He sat beside the window in the dark, with his eyes closed. Hearing to the sound of the rain. The whisky in his glass burnt his throat, while the smoke of his cigarette filled his lungs and the fire inside his heart consumed his soul slowly.

He’s drowning, suffocating under the weight of my darkness and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

He smiled and captured my hand..... I attempted to pull my hand away. He tightened his grip just a little and kept my hand encased in his. A warmth spread through to me.

He sped down Melrose Avenue, skating from shade to shade to the deeper darkness along the north-facing shops. Papers fluttered and leaves trembled in his wake. Outside a dress boutique two girls turned, startled by the change in air he had caused. They glanced at each other and laughed. The dark pretty one whispered, "Someone just walked over our graves." That made them laugh again, but Stanton sensed more. He twirled back and savored their fear. He wanted to drop into his body and become solid in front of them but he didn't have time. Instead he whispered, "Death is riding on the wind." Their eyes shot open and he sucked in that terror.

He’s in a side room alone with her and it’s far too fucking hot.

He stopped and leaned against a pole and looked up at the deaf and swollen sky. It was a movement of dark shapes, a hurrying, a running. He closed his eyes. ("Hunger")

He stood on the ice, his teeth chattering in the cold, a cold that seemed to come not from the lake water or icy wind, but from a direct transmission from outer space.

He wanted a fight, yes—but he wanted her willing, not besieged, with his name shattering from her lips like a broken shield as she surrendered.

He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby becomes a monster.

He was a phoenix of blood, rising from the ashes of those who had fallen and suffered before him.

He was the monster that no one thought to look for in the light of day. It was a common mistake. People often believed they were safer in the light, thinking monsters only came out at night. But safety - like light - is a facade. Underneath, the whole world is drenched in darkness.

He was sort of beautiful. In his own dark, depressing way, but still. She was going to miss that stupid fucking beautiful face.

High school is just like the night sky. It's beautiful. Some moments, you're just in awe of it. But it's dark and endless, which can be scary, too. When the stars fall away, what's left?... The sun... Darkness goes away, but the sun shows up and you start over again. So let high school happen, and eventually, you light up the rest of your life. Burn as bright as you want. The wonderful thing about the sun is, it's always there. People don't have to see you to believe you'll be there.

His room was a sickly dual-tone of crimson and charcoal, like an Untitled Rothko, the colours bleeding into each other horribly and then rather serenely. The overall effect was overwhelmingly unapologetic but it grew on you like a wart on your nose you didn't realise it was a part of your identity until one day it simply was. His room was his identity. Fiercely bold, avant-garde but never monotonous. He was red, he was black, he was bored, and he was fire. At least to me he seemed like fire. A tornado of fire that burned all in its wake leaving only the wretched brightness of annihilation. His room was where he charmed and disarmed us. We were his playthings. Nobody plays with fire and leaves unscarred. The fire soon seeps into chard and soot. The colours of his soul, his aura, and probably his heart if he didn't stop smoking.

His angelic wings blackened when the dark fury assailed his mind. Summoning new strength from the unholy power that ravaged his soul, grieved to drastic levels of desperation by the tainting of the holy light within him, he combated ally and enemy alike, bent on destroying both sides in order to ensure the quelling of the dark energies there and then. For days and nights, the lone warrior bathed himself in the blood of angels and demons. And when it was over, he stood alone on contaminated land, with a contaminated soul. He was banned forever from Heaven and not even Hell had space for a creature which seemed to cherish Oblivion over Pandemonium. The dark angel, not so far removed from his former self as his superiors seemed to believe, died on the edge of the cliffs, of utter loneliness and despair.

His fingers caressed the column of my tense throat. I shivered in fear. I hated not being able to see what was happening, it forced me to feel everything.

His voice had a faint trace of an accent she couldn't place - one that made her pretty sure he was no local kid infected the night before.

His breathing was heavy, and full of life. He shivered still, his hand finding Katty unsteady and unprepared of what was going to come next. “I hurt you!” Nico said, his voice raised with worry. “No, not at all, honey, my sweetest Master, but you have me, all of me, the wholeness of me and my darkness.” “You play with the devil dear.” Nico sombered. “No.” Katty defiantly said. “You took my blood and it made me your slave, yet I love every minute of it.” “Tell me you love me Katty.” He said, nearing her closer than close, mending the space between them with the threads of courage. “Tell me you have no fear, nor no weakness against me. Or no shame in loving me.” “I fear you not, my love.” Katty sincerely committed. “I fear only that you will be taken away by the hands of the vampire hunter, and only then, will I fall.

His wax-white skin was cool to the touch when she brushed his neck to find the knot of cloth. She'd never been this close to a vampire,never realized what it would be like to be so near to someone who didn't breathe, who could be as still as any statue. His chest neither rose not fell. Her hands shook.

Ho permesso loro di conoscere il sapore della sua bocca, la morbidezza delle sue carni, la melodia dei suoi gemiti. (Maksim-La mia vendetta con te ©Giovanna Roma)

How many colors decorate you? Not enough, you should add more. - The Malwatch

How lame this is, how small, terrible. Or maybe it is beautiful. I can't decide if what I am doing is beautiful and noble and right, or small and disgusting.

How would I feel about hearing that the plague killed another nearby village a month later? Didn’t I tell you stupidity is the eighth sin? Excerpt From: Cameron Jace. “.

How ugly we must look to them, spilling light into every dark corner to push back the shadows, blinding ourselves to the true beauty of emptiness.

Human beings suck the life out of everything that's beautiful.

Humans' eyes cannot take in information when there is zero light reflecting back