Best 757 quotes in «suspense quotes» category

When reading dies, the imagination soon follows.

When she woke in the morning, there would be no glass on the floor. No comforter lying on the chair. Hawk Cahill, the cowboy hero to the rescue, would have been only a dream in the middle of her waking nightmare.

When the pieces fell around him, he'd pick them up. It was what he was good at, after all. Restoring what was once lost, what could never be perfectly whole again.

When the time comes, don’t be afraid to open the door, just make sure you choose the right one.

when the uncertainty is known, certainty is guaranteed. Until we unravel the uncertainties of our lives, we shall always be uncertain with the life we live

When we arrive on our floor we head to our rooms, politely bidding each other goodnight. Just as I am about to enter mine, I remember I have his jacket. I can use this to have just one more moment with him tonight. I knock on his door, his lips slightly open when he sees me on the other side. “You forgot your jacket.” It is still on my shoulders. I turn around to offer it up to him. “Thank you Shy,” As he says this he takes both of his hands, grabbing each shoulder of the jacket and oh so slowly pulls it off of me, grazing my bare arms and back as he pulls it off. I close my eyes taking in his touch. Each caress of his fingertips feels like one thousand little sparks. How can just the faintest touch from this man set me off like this? Please kiss me. Kiss my neck. I won’t say no. I hold my position for a second more than I should, but it feels so tortuously long. There is nothing, not another touch, not a kiss. I turn to face him again and bid him goodnight. His face looks sad, almost guilty. Every word, every touch, every action tonight was an implication. This keeps us safe from one another. It keeps me safe from him. “Goodnight Shy,” he says as if dismissing me from his presence. “Goodnight Taylor.

When you see me in a scarf you may think “Oh, she went to some trouble there.” But no, when I wear a scarf it means "this grey blouse was unwrinkled and those mocha pants make my behind look fine and voila I have a vivid grey and brown silk scarf which means I have transformed self from bone lazy to coordinated accessory maven.(Maid in Waiting publish date June 2014)

Where I’m taking you, no one will ever find us. We’ll have all the time in the world for you to grow to love me as much as I love you.

Who else are you going to get to scrub your back?

Why do you even want to be involved with me?" she asked. "I'm a complete mess. I don't have my head on straight. I'm a master at fucking up everything that's good in my life." "But you're my mess." Cole said quietly. "I don't need you to be perfect. I just need you to be you because that's who I care about.

Who would want to be the prey in a world full of hunters? ~Disarming(Reign of Blood #2)

Whoever said dogs can't speak was never interested in learning another language.

Why did you shoot him?" "You weren't around," I replied, my teeth gritted in pain. "If you'd been here I'd have shot you instead.

Why do I feel the longing to rub my palms on my jeans? That perverted guy didn’t touch me, yet I crave a shower. Instead, I go to the kitchen to wash my hands and drink some water. The acrid taste in my mouth will go away, as it always does, in a minute or so.

[W]ithout the League, you'd be nothing.

William’s head tilted and the fluorescent lights above us reflected in his eyes, making them glow like translucent sapphires. “I wasn’t sure I had anything here in Providence drawing me back.” He studied my face and then smiled that schoolboy grin from all my memories. “But I don’t think Providence has seen the last of me yet.

With this choice, I know that I am giving up my career and most of my so-called friends. But, this is something I must do. Finally, I am going to do the right thing for the right reasons and maybe save his life.

Woolrich had a genius for creating types of story perfectly consonant with his world: the noir cop story, the clock race story, the waking nightmare, the oscillation thriller, the headlong through the night story, the annihilation story, the last hours story. These situations, and variations on them, and others like them, are paradigms of our position in the world as Woolrich sees it. His mastery of suspense, his genius (like that of his spiritual brother Alfred Hitchcock) for keeping us on the edge of our seats and gasping with fright, stems not only from the nightmarish situations he conjured up but from his prose, which is compulsively readable, cinematically vivid, high-strung almost to the point of hysteria, forcing us into the skins of the hunted and doomed where we live their agonies and die with them a thousand small deaths.

Words, words, words…they were all just jumbling together now as the crowd thickened. She put her hands over her ears and screamed. (From 'The Woman Who Heard Too Much')

Wolfman clears everything off the table except his gun. That he keeps close at hand. There is a sense of ceremony about his actions. My stomach tightens up. We are about to begin.

Woodhouse's father entered the room violently and without its consent. The rats scurried away from his work boots, and his flat cap was imbued with tweedy malevolence. His moustache bristled with ill intent and the only thing great about his coat was the quantity of fear that it inspired.

Would you dare to walk with the beast on the dark side of the moon?

Yes, I could stop writing... But only after I shoot myself.

Yeah, try wearing a piss cutter for eight years… then it wouldn’t be so bad.

Yet Judith Alethea is hardly more distinct as she tiptoes out of the glassy smog, her face a spilt cream smudge of makeup caked on and cracking at the corners of her eyes that intensifies her middle age instead of hiding it. A hesitant and excitable slap of putty, thoroughly kneaded by life and imprinted with its multilayered, multicolored narratives like transposed comic strips, she wears a thick, bunchy, ecru suit and hugs an equally bland oversized purse to her hip as she slowly minces into the witness box and huddles down in the seat. The big-boned, moon-faced court reporter leans forward to hear as Alethea swears her oath, while Shannon Gray hovers by the witness box as if attending to a senile aunt.

You always were the hot head. You got a temper in you that can't be tamed, yet you also got a soft spot for stray dogs, kids in trouble and damsels in distress. See why folks label you a complex conundrum.

Yep,” I said, rolling the body onto its back and staring into the horrified, bloated face, “you’re a single-bagger. My kinda gal.” I gave her a smile and a friendly wink. The face stared back at me with that same frozen look of terror. “Oh, stop being so dramatic,” I said, “You’ll be pretty again, I promise.

You: Are you okay? How could I answer that truthfully? ‘I’m not really okay and I think I might be better if I could just hear the sound of your voice?’ That was a bit too much, my brain decided. Me: Yep My phone rang almost immediately. “You’re not okay,” you said. My heart nearly stopped beating at the sound of your voice. It was incredible, the effect that one particular voice had on me. It steadied me. “How can you tell?” I asked, laughing weakly. I could picture you —well, at least what I imagine of you — wondering if you should say what I somehow already knew you would. “You never say ‘yep’.” “I say it all the time.” “No,” you replied, “you don’t. You say it when you’re trying not to say whatever’s on your mind. So talk.” “I’m fine, just tired and a bit bored, I guess.” Liar, my inner voice said accusingly. You miss him and you know it.

You are such a wolf.” “When it comes to you? Absolutely.

You are in training, and therefore your personal taste and opinions are not to be trusted until they are fully and reliably shaped - by me.

You don't kill someone you love, do you?

You can never be free of their criticism until you no longer seek their praise.

You can speak to me like you haven’t spoken even to yourself.

You can’t move forward with your life until you make peace with your past.

You don't die of a broken heart, it only wears you down—just another rainy day.” – Grey Daze

You gotta fish or cut bait,man.This has gone on long enough. You're playing with fire, every damn time you walk in this bar.

You can’t just walk up to a stand of unsuspecting oaks and start touching. They’d think you’re getting fresh with them.

You don't understand. How could you? We were in the worst sort of hell. We weren't living day to day or even hour to hour. We survived minute by excruciating minute. The next day was an eternity away and we didn't want it. Death wasn't the enemy. It was our salvation.

You ever play that game seven minutes in heaven, baby? Because we're about to play it.

You keep your followers confused when you begin very well and give up too early... Suspense is useful in movies, but useless when writing your success stories!

You know what I want?” Drey asked. “Name it.” Hawk knew he would move heaven and earth if she asked him. She stood and started taking off her clothes. “I’m not sure where exactly this is headed, but I’m liking it,” he said.

You know what, your imagination works faster than your mind.

You make velocity look good.

You look good, Clearwater. Been working out?' Danie teased. 'He does, doesn't he?'Janelle agreed. 'This will totally work.' James' eyes darted back and forth between the girls, his head spinning. 'Wait, what will work?

You look like you could be the love child of a grizzly bear and a navy destroyer.

You may suppose that perhaps this Walter T. Wallace found his destiny in food and passed down to his progeny a legacy like that of the great Colonel Sanders. The folks here in Wallace County would love to be able to tell you this is so. But no, like their granddaddy, the Wallace men were thievin’ crooks, always with a scheme ready to separate the weak from their hard-earned money.

You kissed me once and now you feel as if you’ve got some special kind of licence to do it whenever you want?

You know it's a good mystery novel when you, the reader, find yourself becoming a frustrated detective who occasionally gets it right.

You need time for the grief to heal, for the memories to fade in sharpness, time to adjust your expectation for the future. Be gentle with yourself, you'll make it.

You never know what you're gonna find when you look under those covers - grandma or the wolf.