Best 503 quotes in «supernatural quotes» category

We don’t live in a rational world, Ethan. It’s an irrational world under a thin veneer of logic - just enough to throw us off.

We know what wood is and what earth and stone are and that they have a color and texture, a smell and even a taste, but matter as a perceptible material substance independent of the nature of the wood, earth and stone composed of it seems incomprehensible. In order for us to regard a thing as real it must possess at least some distinctive physical qualities. We must be able to experience it as a physical thing before we can decide it is real. Matter as proposed by modern science, however, has no distinctive or definite physical qualities at all. Matter is simply some unimaginable stuff possessing no conceivable definition whatsoever. The concept of matter, then, proves to be just as elusive and abstract as the concepts of spirit, soul or the life-principle.

We have a natural and supernatural identity. Our spirituality should be relevant to daily life; our calling is to influence the world through right living, the Truth and the power of God.

we know little of the things for which we pray

Well, strap my ass to a flagpole and hoist it skyward' an all to familiar voice declared.

We lie to protect our children, and in lying we expose them to the greatest of harms

We might feel very sure that there is no more to reality that the material world in which we live, but we cannot prove that this is the case. Theoretically there could be other realms, other dimensions, as all religious traditions and quantum physics alike maintain. Theoretically, the brain could be as much a receiver as a generator of consciousness and thus might be fine-tuned in altered states to pick up wavelengths that are normally not accessible to us.

We need to talk," he insisted, opening the door to his jeep that was parked next to my car. I was still holding out hope this would end and I would see his smile soon. "What's wrong?" I retaliated before I go in. "There's something you need to know, something I haven't told you," he said, taking my backpack from me.

We're all just moments and most of us don't matter. We study less than one percent of all humanity in our history books.

Well, we’ve got to get close to the Webbers, right?” Sky’s question was rhetorical as Henry stopped by her side. “Yes,” Georgiana and Ryan replied in unison. “I’ve figured out a way to do it,” Sky beamed.

We understood it was possible to know things one was not supposed to know…” Lone Walk From Panther Creek.

We've peered into the deepest parts to see beyond what lies on the surface.

What up you guys, I'm back!

What we could consider magic, may just be science that we don’t understand yet.

What we share between us is powerful. It consumes and burns brightly, love. When we—if we—consummate this relationship, I want us to be thinking clearly. Most importantly, I want you to be strong. Healthy. I want you to be whole. I wish that for you—in every second of your life—whether you choose to stay or go—that you be you again…that your heart…and your body heal. You’ve survived much, Laney. Let us not forget your journey leading to this place in time.

What your mind sees when you close your eyes marks the entrance to an endless universe: your imagination.

When I look up from my book, the wind has gained its full voice. This storm is the mad child of Father Time and Mother Nature. Wailing away in no predictable rhythm, their monstrous offspring’s throwing a hackle-raising temper tantrum. Underscoring the hideous howl, I detect another, quieter sound, a pitiable, weak whimper which has been all but completely drowned out by the epic volume of the screaming wind. With slowly dawning terror, I realize this cowardly voice is my own; escaping through the narrow opening of my barely parted lips. Where’s my dad? Why is he taking so long? The weather ignores my whining questions and continues to whip itself into a raging convulsion. The windows rattle and the wind screams. But the sounds are no longer random. In the midst of the chaos, the howling begins to form an elongated word. Horrified, I recognize the stretched out syllables of my own name. “Aaaaannaaaaabelle.

When it's sunny, why not spend some time dressing up and go out to have a walk!

When I was a child, I first thought that these shades might be malevolent spirits who fostered evil in those people around whom they swarmed. I've since discovered that many human beings need no supernatural mentoring to commit acts of savagery; some people are devils in their own right, their telltale horns having grown inward to facilitate their disguise.

When scientists are unable to explain a certain phenomenon, it does not prove that the phenomenon belongs in the paranormal domain. It means that we need more data and we need to carry out more analyses. If you ask a five-year old to define calculus, and the kid has no idea what you are talking about, it does not mean that calculus is something supernatural. It means that the kid’s brain needs to grow further in order to comprehend calculus. The same goes for various unexplained phenomena of the world.

When plotting revenge, you should dig two graves - one for your enemy, and the other for yourself

When you are a Protector, in darkness you see the world through different eyes and the line between Beast and Savior is so thin, you find yourself wondering if it was ever there to begin with. The beat of a heart makes your soul ache, instincts so raw fighting them seems futile and until you are marked, the world holds its breath as within you lies the power to destroy them all.

Whether I'm a good wife doesn't have anything to do with what he was like.

While she heard the commotion of her classmates shouting for teachers, she made her way to the infirmary, a feeling of déjà vu creeping all over her and mixing with the burning sensation in her leg.

Will you promise to keep this to yourself, to not tell anyone of what we are?” By his words you’d think he was giving me a choice. Like I could say,no deal, honey bunch, I’m off to shout your secret from the rooftops, and he’d be like, oh no please don’t do that. In reality, he’d have to kill me.

We're all Hitler inside. We're all Christ inside. I'm not keen on the idea, but it's true, isn't it? We've all got a little bit of the devil in us.

When the religious Cowper confesses in the opening lines of his address to the famous Yardley oak, that the sense of awe and reverence it inspired in him would have made him bow himself down and worship it but for the happy fact that his mind was illumined with the knowledge of the truth, he is but saying what many feel without in most cases recognizing the emotion for what it is—the sense of the supernatural in nature.

When you allow yourself to remember that you truly are a multidimensional being, you will begin experiencing yourself in a much more expanded way. What previously was believed to be supernatural becomes natural. Then you come to a realisation that now you can see what has always been there yet it remained hidden to you who chose to see something else.

When you don’t have explanation for a certain phenomenon, as a real human, you should suspend judgement, instead of concocting supernatural explanations out of ignorance and primordial fanaticism.

When you find that a theology has nothing more to offer than what the world already offers, then that theology as a theology is impractical, and therefore, useless.

When you go to sleep, where do you really go?

Where got she her sullen mouth And where her swaying form? Would she live on eggs and apples When the blood of men is warm? (“The Young Witch”)

Why don’t we keep that secret? Hunters will lose their reputations if we’re seen saving puppies and painting flowers.

Why not other elements besides fire, air, earth and water? There are four of them, just four, those foster parents of beings! What a pity! Why aren't there forty elements instead, or four hundred, or four thousand? How paltry everything is, how miserly, how wretched! Stingily given, aridly invented, heavily made! Why not other elements besides fire, air, earth and water? There are four of them, just four, those foster parents of beings! What a pity! Why aren't there forty elements instead, or four hundred, or four thousand? How paltry everything is, how miserly, how wretched! Stingily given, aridly invented, heavily made!

Without thinking, I step a little closer, reaching out slowly to slide a fingertip over the largest petal of the lily tattoo on her lower back. Instantly a vibration moves up my arm, and I swear the mark on my hand burns against my skin. I clench my fingers into a fist, but I don’t step away. “Did you feel that?” she asks. I shake my head. “I don’t know.” I feel so much, always so much. She takes my hand and brings it to her side again, resting it on the violets. I look at the purple flowers between my fingers and feel the heat of her skin, the way it slides beneath my palm, soft as silk. And that vibration moves through my arm again. Her breath quickens. I find myself moving closer as her blue eyes go wide with wonder. My heart stutters and my chest aches with some unknown need. “Are you doing this?” I ask. Is she making me want this? “No,” she breathes. The smell of her turns to spice, sharp and warm, and I know I’m sensing her now, even through the block in the house. We stand like that for an eternity, still as statues on the outside, but inside I’m running, running toward a place I’ve never been. I should be terrified. But all I feel is strength. Rightness. And then Kara moves, her hands skimming up my chest, testing the boundaries. Her palms slide to my shoulders, her fingers tracing the line of the muscles in my arms, down to my waist. She grips my shirt, stretching it a little, waiting for me to tell her to stop. But I watch her lift it, let her pull it up, raising my arms, and I even take the last of it off myself, dropping it to the floor. We breathe, staring at each other. The vibrations move between us. My left arm buzzes with them. I think she’s doing it. Whatever’s happening, it’s her. I reach up and brush my marked knuckles across her cheek, amazed at the feel of her, the way her eyes seem to see everything, the way she pulls me into her. I can’t seem to remember why I shouldn’t kiss her. And kiss her. And . . . I kiss her, taking her face in both hands, skimming my thumb over her jaw as she leans into the touch, reaching out to curl her fingers around the back of my neck. I have to remind myself to breathe. I need more of her. The emotions roll over me in a rush, a tangle of sensation and movement, heat and sugar and heady aromas. I grip her tighter. Her nails dig into my shoulders. My hands slide down her spine. The kiss deepens, goes on forever, until I can barely see sense. I explore her shape, the feel of her ribs, the textures and taste of her skin on my tongue as I kiss her neck, her shoulders, her chest. As I draw trembling gasps from her lips, she grips me so hard it hurts. Our bodies mesh. Our breath mingles in frenzied desperation. Nothing else exists except her. Her warmth. Her spice. Her.

With timid curiosity, I asked, “what do you mean the old bodies get reused?

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.

Woodbridge, the school I attend,” he spoke slowly, thinking every single word he was uttering, “it’s a sort of institute, not for rich kids, but for humans who are able to change, into something, something else.

Words writers choose are a glimmering reflection into our souls.

Would it surprise you to know that a presence was on your back a few seconds ago?

Writing poetry is supernatural. Or, it should be.

Yeah, but a hellbender never dies. You ever see a dead one?

Yes, the monsters were real. Are real. There are creatures in this world that exist beyond the scope of what you know and see. Remember, not all are created equal. Some are better…and worse than others…just like humans.

Yet, despite all, it is a difficult thing to admit the existence of ghosts in a coldly factual world. One's very instincts rebel at the admission of such maddening possibility. For, once the initial step is made into the supernatural, there is no turning back, no knowing where the strange road leads except that it is quite unknown and quite terrible. ("Slaughter House")

You are a bright light, Elli.’ His own breath hitches, a sound that I cannot quite grasp. His eyes are darkening, his lips tightening. His hands grasp me tighter and he moves closer, his mouth inches from mine, I can almost taste the sweetness and saltiness of his scent, the rich coffee beans and sugar, the vague spearmint. I say nothing, I’m not even sure I’m breathing. ‘You shouldn’t have to see such pain, such blackness. You are too pure.’ His lips do not collide with mine, his skin does not brush against me, only his voice sends a shiver down every notch in my spine, trailing goose bumps over my skin. He tilts his head to the side, his lips gently brushing against my ear. And that is all. I’m not good enough for him. I’m not. That’s why… that’s why… ‘Too pure…

You are not a handgun. More like a pellet gun. Maybe even a slingshot.

...you are not what you seem - you're a Sylph - you leave and the air retains your image - you haunt me...

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 belong with us, the lost of the lost, the tribe without a home, a tribe of orphans living our abandoned lives amid toys and trinkets, stuffed monkeys and bears. You’re one of us now—the Tribe of the Teddy Bear.” From Tribe of the Teddy Bear

You can't let your light die out. Yours is the only light on my dark path. Without it, I will be forever lost.