Best 503 quotes in «supernatural quotes» category

Posso dire soltanto che vi sono enti così spaventosi che il solo vederli basta a raggelare il sangue. Ma chi mi comprenderà se ora affermo che ben più terrificante è la loro invisibile vicinanza?

Praying is a supreme power.

Preston Black couldn't sleep the whole night through, Preston Black couldn't sleep the whole night through. He'd lay in bed 'til the morning came, but the devil'd visit him just the same. Preston Black couldn't sleep the whole night through.

Psychic change, as Todorov has recognized, subverted the genre in another way, by revoking the cultural taboos, the social censorship, that had prohibited the overt treatment of psychosexual themes, which then found covert expression in the supernatural tale. 'There is no need today to resort to the devil [or to posthumous reverie] in order to speak of excessive sexual desire, and none to resort to vampires in order to designate the attraction exerted by corpses: psychoanalysis, and the literature which is directly or indirectly inspired by it, deal with these matters in undisguised terms. The themes of fantastic literature have become, literally, the very themes of the psychological investigations of the last fifty years.

Pursued by grace and supernatural power from God, I will passionately pursued my most cherished dreams.

Quote from BEAUTIFULLY BROKEN – pgs. 86 -87 “A Kiss”: I went to snatch my hand away, but Trent caught my hand in his, startling me. I looked up to see warmth on his face. His smile held the promise of happiness. He scooted closer and held my gaze for a breath, glanced down. He leaned forward, as if he had no control over his actions. I inhaled his nice, soapy-clean scent, and all coherent thought left my head. His hands gripped my waist and Trent yanked me against him, his mouth covering mine in a deep kiss. The caress of his lips was softer than I’d imagined. An unfamiliar rush of excitement engulfed my senses. My hands wrapped around his neck, fingering his silky tousled hair. His moist lips seared a path from my lips to my neck, igniting a blaze of desire that flooded my skin everywhere his lips and roaming hands touched. Boys had kissed me before, but not like this. Never like this...

Quote from MOONLIGHT MAYHEM – pg 224 “Hero Intercedes”: His hands flickered upward, and before I knew it, they were cupping my face. So, damnably fast now. Demonic-like fast. Trent reeled me closer. Our foreheads joined. He held me, while I trembled in his arms. I was vaguely aware of Evans and Maxwell watching, although it didn’t seem important. Nothing seemed important whenever he did this. It felt like we were enclosed in our own personal bubble made only for the two of us. Trent murmured something in my ear. We stood like that until my shaky legs gradually regained strength. I shut my eyes and pretended my body wasn’t sizzling with heat-lightning because Trent stood so close. My hormones always decided to rebel whenever he put his arms around me. And it wasn’t totally awkward and uncomfortable. No, it felt like the best thing I’d experienced since before Dad’s death. And that’s saying a lot.

Reality is thin ice, but most people skate on it their whole lives and never fall.

Really?' Shep scoffed and rolled his eyes. 'You can't be serious! Whitey, you come from the streets of North Philly, and you're scared of a bunch of backwoods butt-monkeys that thinks that an awesome Saturday night consists of drinking the cheapest beer they can steal from their daddy's huntin' coolers, tippin' some cows, stealin' a tracter, takin' it for a joy ride then leaving it on the 9th green of the golf course, and getting a knobber from one of the skankleaders. Seriously, Whitey, you have issues that I can't even begin to imagine.

Redemption is won in the light, but is wrought in the darkness.

Roots cannot grow into trees if there are no supernatural elements in the soil. Man cannot grow wealthy and famous if he doesn't contribute to either, the good or evil.

Rings and magazines; keychains and umbrellas; hats and glasses; rattles and radios. They looked like different things, but Ralph thought they were really all the same thing: the faint, sorrowing voices of people who had found themselves written out of the script in the middle of the second act while they were still learning their lines for the third, people who had been unceremoniously hauled off before their work was done or their obligations fulfilled, people whose only crime had been to be born in the Random... and to have caught the eye of the madman with the rusty scalpel.

Rivera rubbed his temples. "Satan told you to do it?" he said wearily. "No." "Elvis?" "I told you, it's supernatural.

Sarucha (age 8): "Look, down there, I recognize it, ciudad de Jerusalén (the city of Jerusalem)! Jerusalén!, Jerusalén!" she exclaimed.

Ryan only had one name to help him get to his mother, and he had no idea of who it belonged to. Even worse, his dad had gone missing two days before, and he was clueless as to what had happened to him as well.

Ryan was a whole other matter. Close to nothing was known about him.

She had yet to actually call him by his real name. The psychologist in him had all kinds of theories as to why. The man in him wanted to hear her say it. Just once.

Science has never killed or persecuted a single person for doubting or denying its teaching, and most of these teaching have been true; but religion has murdered millions for doubting or denying her dogmas and most of these dogmas have been false. All stories about gods and devils, of heavens and hells, as they do not conform to nature, and are not apparent to sense, should be rejected without consideration. Beyond the universe there is nothing and within the universe the supernatural does not and cannot exist. Of all deceivers who have plagued mankind, none are so deeply ruinous to human happiness as those imposters who pretend to lead by a light above nature. The lips of the dead are closed forever. There comes no voice from the tomb. Christianity is responsible for having cast the fable of eternal fire over almost every grave.

Shadows could be anywhere in blackness. (Eric)

She loved her mother, but she loved Kestrel more than her own life.

She pointed a finger at him. "Smart men don't comment on a woman's eating habits, regardless of how many brownies she can shove in her mouth at one time." He laughed. "In that case, I guess I'm not as smart as you think I am.

Silent as shadows. Bold as night. Calm as wind. One shall die tonight.

She waited for him to go on, but he simply gaped at her, lost for words. "Doc Grey, do you want me?" she asked before she could stop herself. "Vera, I..." He stopped abruptly. "I..."... "I asked you a question." The words came out breathier than she'd intended. She stepped closer, until their bodies were less than an inch apart, and stared up into his gorgeous, honey-brown eyes. He met her gaze, and she saw a spark behind his irises that could only be described with one word: desire.

She wanted to freeze the hands of time. Wanted to revisit, revise and rewrite the past…edit out the monsters hell-bent on taking the lives of everyone she loved.

Shimmel: “NEVER TRUST THE GOYIM. They are just like these other weird dangerous people, Messianic Jews! How dare Jews become “Christian-like”, Messianic? We should cherem (ban) them from every aspect of Jewish life. And we must strip them of every Jewish privilege!

Sir Arthur, I have devoted a lot of time and thought to this illusion ... I won’t tell you how it was done, but I can assure you it was pure trickery. I did it by perfectly normal means. I devised it to show you what can be done along these lines. Now, I beg of you, Sir Arthur, do not jump to the conclusion that certain things you see are necessarily “supernatural,” or the work of “spirits,” just because you cannot explain them....

Six years of dreams would end in eternal love, or an eternity of loss.

[...] Sivesh cried one name aloud. It was the name of Azhrarn, and in that name was all the pain and loneliness and despair and accusation that any mortal throat could utter.

So it’s fate then?” I asked with him so close my lips brushed the line of his jaw with each word, “Us being together?” “Absolutely,” Calvin said with a low growl. Then he lifted my chin, tilting my head back, and kissed me deeply. Who was I to argue with Fate?

So,” Lauren said. “You help ghosts with unfulfilled wishes cross over to the astral plane for judgment.” “Yes.” “And you hunt demons.” “Yes.” “And you’re married to an angel.” “Yes.” She paused. “…so basically, you’re Dean Winchester.” I made an exasperated sound. “I am NOT.” She smirked. “Yeah, sure.

Some ghosts or felt presences may simply be the essence of another living person projected outward while sleeping.

Sometime later, I stood watching the cold rain fall, when suddenly I felt Daemon's arms around me and his lips on my neck. He loved my pregnant body and his hands roamed over it under the warm terrycloth of my bathrobe. I was lost in the moment, content to stay here forever...lost in the cold rain and welcoming warmth of Dublin, and lost in the arms of my husband. Since we arrived early this morning we were in our room, making love and sleeping, lost in a fairy tale moment, savoring every caress.

Some people don’t care about Christianity at all unless it can make them drunk or high “in the spirit.” They use and abuse God and Christianity just like they would use any other substance in their life. They search for the experiences, but not God.

Something like panic struck at Hurlow. Moffat's calm confession of fear withdrew the prop upon which he had leaned. Down there, among the motionless shadows, lurked invisible things, things that were nameless, shapeless and malignant; things which could see without being seen. One of the long lost terrors of childhood returned to him, and like a child he put his hand into Moffat's.

Sometimes good people do bad things.

Sounds like I’m the man of your dreams…

So pervasively has Enlightenment culture’s anti-supernaturalism affected the Western church, especially educated European and North American Christians, that most of us are suspicious of anything supernatural.

Sophie was a walking truth serum. If she was touching bare skin, she could yank the truth out of you like a loose tooth. I’d spent several unpleasant hours in her company during the Council’s screening process for humans who planned to work with vampires. That’s when I learned that you don’t refer to Buffy, the Winchesters, or even the Frog Brothers from The Lost Boys in front of Council officials. They do not have a sense of humor about that sort of entertainment.

Tangled onto the shuttle, we were being woven back and forth to create the same tapestry of despair and heartbreak and loss. It was so much bigger than I could see before, and all I had done was stand at the centre of the web and feed it my anger and frustration and jealousy.

Supernatural fiction contains its own generic borderland: a neutral territory, which Tzvetan Todorov calls 'the fantastic,' between 'the marvelous' and 'the uncanny.' According to Todorov, 'The fantastic is that hesitation experienced by a person who knows only the laws of nature, confronting an apparently supernatural event.' Once the event is satisfactorily explained (and sometimes it is never explained), we have left the fantastic for an adjacent genre - either 'the uncanny,' where the apparently supernatural is revealed as illusory, or 'the marvelous,' where the laws of ordinary reality must be revised to incorporate the supernatural. As long as uncertainty reigns, however, we are in the ambiguous realm of the fantastic.

Spirituality lies in acts of compassion and conscience, not in supernatural nonsense. One may babble ceaselessly about positive frequencies, healing vibrations, nourishing stones and crystals, but all these are not indicative of a spiritual existence, if anything, they are only signs of stupidity and ignorance masquerading as higher knowledge.

Such a pity, really; the prey falling for the predator. The victim in love with the killer... A mere mortal girl thinking a demon was capable of love.

Such tricks hath strong imagination

Supernatural is spiritual.

Tell me, Eric,” he said, licking a droplet from the corner of his mouth. “Have you ever tasted blood?”        My mouth was so dry I could barely find the voice to answer him. “What an odd question...”        “But a valid one. Well, have you?”        “I’ve cut my lip before, so yes, I suppose I have tasted blood, but...”        “Not your own, you foolish boy.” He let out a short, derisive laugh and leaned in so that he was only a few inches from my face. “I mean the blood of another.”        “Good God, Stefan, of course not!”        “Pity...

That is why I take the younger ones, you see. You already give parts of your hearts away so easily--little fragments attached to celebrities, to hobbies, to ill-fated love affairs. Your kind have the best chance at survival.

The British call junzi a "gentleman," no surprise. The Americans have no gentlemen, so they translate junzi as "the superior man." The Germans have no gentlemen either, and "superior man" is reserved, so they call junzi an "edler" meaning a person of noble blood. To sum up, all Europeans call junzi anything but junzi, which is quite a scandal.

That settles it, no more books about vampire before bedtime.

That’s funny. You would think after being followed and shoved into a dark alley by a stranger, you would be at least a little shaken. Don’t tell me, you are a black belt just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.” He laughed soundlessly. “I mean your words do sound brave but your eyes and the fact that you’re trembling like a scared little kitten say something else entirely.” Even though the alley was submerged in darkness and shadows, it was obvious there was a devilish grin stretched across his face...

That the earth in its course stood still; that a she-ass spoke; that a storm was quieted by a word, we do not believe, and we shall never again believe.