Best 696 quotes in «vampire quotes» category

I never tolerate disrespect or betrayal

I never imagined being undead would be so much work,” Jeff lamented. “Being a ‘vampire’ takes no work at all,” Timothy emphasized vampire. “It’s surviving that takes all the work.

In its timeless capacity to embody the human condition, the vampire is a poignant metaphor describing the psychosocial experience of the pariah - the outsider. The vampire is the Other that used to be human. The diseased, the mentally challenged, the homeless and hungry, ......are all vampires in a way; the other who used to be human, the invisible who casts no reflection among us.

Innocent? Tell me human, who among you is innocent? Who among you has not destroyed without need or hurt without pity? Should a lion ponder his role in thinning the herds? Does he question whether or not he is doing the right thing as he tears into a zebra’s flesh?” he snarled. His next words were slow and measured, and more to himself than to Natalya. “No….he knows only that he has teeth and claws….and an insatiable lust for blood.

I noticed Xander had subtly adjusted his posture. He slouched slightly to the side, let his head hang, and then looked up through his bangs to gaze at something in the middle distance. Uber James Dean. Xander managed to pull it off as if he was looking at nothing, just having deep thoughts about the far away adventures he would be having if he wasn’t stuck waiting for a flowered suitcase at Hopkins International. I casually let my eyes slide across the room. There had to be cute girls somewhere close at hand. Otherwise Xander wouldn’t have broken out his middle distance gazing Tyrone Power eyes.

In short, if you should find yourself in a fight against a vampire, you are really right and proper fucked.

Inside, a deep-rooted force raged, buried in her psyche from eons before, percolating with a primordial awakening that had been long forgotten, until now.

In the midst of the battle between rebellion and surrender Bantry was suddenly uncertain what Flynn was starved for. The sensuality of a man’s kiss? Or the rich, iron taste of blood?

In the muddy area below, the men of Jamestown gathered. Their excitement was obvious in the way they greeted each other, the rapid pumping of arms and the boisterous slapping of backs. Heads nodded as they conversed and waited to mingle with the ladies who would soon be their help mates. These men had pioneer spirits and courage. They had travelled to an unknown land to make a new life for themselves in a country where even the climate could kill. When these adventurers had first arrived, trade had been established with the Powhatans. Then the fort had been built. Then another, after the Indian raids. Then, the men of God came, and disease came, and the first two women, followed by families, and then winter. Cold, deadly winter followed by four years of Indian wars, and the hollow ache of starvation. Still, year after year, the settlement had survived and one year after the ship, The White Lion, brought the first black people, the settlement was thought safe for women—European women. Wives! It was a glorious day, for now each hard-working man could claim his bounty in female flesh. Of course, there would be opportunities to talk to a woman before making a life-binding decision, and there would be a celebration meal, ale and, no doubt, a dance.

I pulled out my mp3 player and stuck the buds in, and letting out a big breath, I started to scroll through my music for something appropriate to kill by. John Tesh, it is.

I rose swiftly and struck him across the cheek, hard enough to make my palm sting. He gaped at me. 'I do not want your damned money. I want you to answer me.' Carefully, he fingered his jaw. There was something new and strange in his gaze, sharp, intent enough to make me wary. 'I do believe I've forgotten the question.'

I shoved his arm with all my strength, but it wouldn’t budge. His waist rippled with sculpted muscles. His chest and shoulders bulged and spoke of great strength. It was one thing to assume he had a big frame, another to have it confirmed with the moon's light.

...I remember that my mother had always said to be polite and finish my meal. At last he gave no more struggles. The deed was done. Now the boat contained four men, not one heartbeat among us. The fate they had destined for another claimed them as well. The irony of it all was more delicious than the blood consumed. -- Quote by Lane DeLuca

I shuddered at the thought of what I would do for her if she asked—kill, steal, desecrate the holy god Ambi, destroy cities and masses of people just at her command.

Is it wrong to protect your heart?”- Marc (Marked Book #1) page 130

Issa knelt down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “Until the end of time, I will love you. You are the moon in my endless night. I have never abandoned this world, even when I desperately wanted to, and I will never leave you, either.

I sounded like Horton the Elephant. "A person is a person no matter how small." What the hell was I doing standing in the middle of a cave, in the dark, surrounded by wererats, quoting Dr. Seuss, and trying to kill a one-thousand-year-old vampire?

I stood up in a flash and flushed a light shade of furious.

It doesn't matter if you can't say it right now. I'll say it for both of us. And someday you'll learn.

It didn't feel sporting to shoot at a crazy person, even if that person was a vampire who'd agreed to the job.

It goes so fast, he thought, they don't tell you that, how fast it goes...

I swivel my back to her, my eyes gluttonous and eager to get their fill of this intimate piece of what has come to be her puzzle.

It all seemed so impossible, so difficult after searching for her, not knowing for so long. How many times had his daughter suffered some human sickness, death or heartache over the course of her many lifetimes? How many times had she loved, cried and been without her father when she most needed him most?

..., It'd taken her several seconds to react to the sight of them together. She'd been almost hypnotized by the scene as Lothaire drank. Chase's masculine face had been tense, his gray eyes focused on the ground. Lothaire's face had been starkly beautiful, his pale blond hair brushing Chase's shoulder. Light and dark. One terrible, one tragic. And Lothaire had been... hard. "Oh, gods!" She cried as she ran back along the trail. Hot poker for my eyes! Hot poker!

The only teeth I have are human teeth, I remind him, gently before opening his throat.

I think we are wise, we English speakers, to savor accents. They teach us things about our own tongue.

It is me. He knows it. The dollymop knows it. I know it. I am the problem. Soon I will be discovered and destroyed. I am in constant danger and yet, I am the danger...

I think you're like a man who loses an arm or a leg and keeps insisting that he can feel pain where the arm or leg used to be.

I thought a wolf’s mindset was just to take?” “I am not just looking at you through the eyes of a wolf, Cora. I am looking at you through the eyes of your mate. It is the only thing that has allowed me to hold back with you. The pull between us is intense.

I thought for a minute you were going to start a war for me.” Christian held the door open. “You’ll know when that day comes.

It is hard to face the truth, Bel,” Lux says. “Only the courageous ever do.

I took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. He won't hurt me, I silently reminded myself. 'Never,' Archer said, shaking his head. 'I'll never hurt you again, Skye.

IT IS SAID that time is unrelated to everything else. It goes on and on, unnoticing of our actions, our falls, our triumphs. Who’s to care then, if time does not remember us? It flies by, fleeting, inattentive and disinterested in any occupants of this earth. What are we, then, if time thinks so little of everyone it passes? Time is truly apathetic to the many to whom a little empathy would mean so much. ~April~ Disarming Reign of Blood

It's a sweet setup, I'll admit. For all that the maids STILL show up each day with jumbo crucifixes, jumpy movements, and red eyes from crying over the short straw that drew them vampire duty.' Yesterday, she'd just stopped herself from raising her clenched hands above her head and chasing one of them around the room groaning, 'I vant to suck your blood.

It’s a cruel joke of the universe that the one person who makes me come alive is himself dead. And evil. His very existence defies all moral laws and all known laws of physics.” ~Juliette

It’s a vampire cabal and I’m feeling like the odd human out…or lunch.

It's a good day to do great things!

It’s a new era at the Chateau.” Antoine said with a wry smile. “Never thought I’d have a wolf shifter here as a guest.” “Never thought we’d have a gargoyle rock star.” Cameron nodded at Dante.

It's entirely possible that there are memories you have buried or repressed, memories formed when you were too young to have a conscious recollection of them, that Brother Jeremiah can reach. It could help us a great deal.

It was a myth, a fantastical portrayal of my mentor himself, his legend forever anchoring itself to history in a way mine will never be. Spring Heeled Jack, the boogeyman with eyes like fireballs who could jump unnaturally high. Breathing blue flames he'd ravage women with his claws.

It takes a few days for the transformation to be complete, depending on how much venom is in the bloodstream, how close the venom is to the heart. As long as the heart keeps beating, poison spreads, healing, changing the body as it moves through it. Eventually the heart stops, and the conversion is finished. But all the time, every minute of it, a victim would be wishing for death

It was about time she woke up to reality and realized that there was more to being a vampire than just feeding from blood.

It was cold, dark & lonely in the great cathedral-like chambers, with only coffins and corpses for company.

It was darker in the tower than any place Devnee had ever been. The dark had textures, some velvet, some satin. The dark shifted positions. The dark continued to breathe. The breath of the tower lifted her clothing like the flaps of a tent, and sounded in her ears like falling snow. It's the wind coming through the double shutters, Devnee told herself. But how could the wind come through? There were glass windows between the inside and outside shutters. Or were there? The windows weren't just holes in the wall, were they? What if there was no glass? What if things crawled through those open louvers, crept into the room, blew in with the cold that fingered her hair? What creatures of the night could slither through those slats? She had not realized how wonderful glass was, how it protected you and kept you inside. She knew something was out there.

It’s supernatural, hard to explain it any further.

It was as if this night were only one of thousands of nights, world without end, night curving into into night to make a great arching line of which I couldn't see the end, a night in which I roamed alone under cold, mindless stars.

It was getting difficult to see exactly what was going on in the pool and a fourth officer jumped in as one came up with the unconscious form of the first cop. While others pulled the half-drowned man from the pool, three more wrestled Skorzeny to the surface and dragged him to the steps at the shallow end of the pool. He wasn't struggling any longer. Nor was he breathing with any apparent difficulty. The biggest of the three cops later admitted to punching him as hard as he could in the stomach and Skorzey doubled over. Another half-dragged him, still on his feet, shirt torn, jacket ripped, out of the pool and put a handcuff on his left wrist. Skorzeny pulled his arm away from the cop and, suddenly straightening, elbow-jabbed him in the gut, sending him sprawling and rolling back into the pool. Skorzeny turned toward the back fence and was now between the pool and a small palm tree. Before him were two advancing officers, pistols leveled. Behind him two more circled the pool. Skorzeny lunged forward and all fired simultaneously. The noise was deafening. Lights in neighboring houses began to go on. Skorzeny's body twitched and bucked as the heavy slugs ripped through his body. His forward momentum carried him into the officers ahead of him and he half-crawled, half-staggered to the southeast corner of the yard where another gate was set into the fiberglass fencing. Two more officers, across the pool, cut loose with their pistols, emptying them into this writing body which danced like a puppet. Another cop fired two shots from his pump-action shotgun and Skorzeny was lifted clean off his feet and slammed against the gate, sagging to the ground. En masse from both ends of the pool they advanced, when he gave out with a terrible hissing snarl and started to rise once more. All movement ceased as the cops, to a man, stood frozen in their tracks. Skorzeny stood there like some hideous caricature, his shredding clothing and skin hanging like limp rags from his scarecrow form. His flesh was ripped in several places and he was oozing something that looked like watered-down blood. It was pinkish and transparent. He stood there like a living nightmare. Then he straightened and raised his fist with the cuff still dangling from it like a charm bracelet. 'Fools!' he shrieked. 'You can't kill me. You can't even hurt me.' Overhead, the copter hovered, the copilot giving a blow-by-blow description of the fight over the radio. The police on the ground were paralyzed. Nearly thirty shots had been fired (the bullets later tallied in reports turned in by the participating officers) and their quarry was still as strong as ever. He'd been hit repeatedly in the head and legs, so a bulletproof vest wasn't the answer. And at distances sometimes as little as five feet, they could hardly have missed. They'd seen him hit. They stood frozen in an eerie tableau as the still roiling pool water threw weird reflections all over the yard. Then Skorzeny did the most frightening thing of all. He smiled. A red-rimmed, hideous grin revealing fangs that 'would have done justice to a Doberman Pinscher.

It was incredible. It was like he was fucking her with his eyes, his teeth, and his cock. She was triply screwed, maybe even screwed quadruple when she took into account her brain because there was a total mind fuck happening here, too.

It was humanoid in form but it was certainly not a person. Its big upside-down teardrop shaped head was covered in blood yet I could still see it pulsating as if there was a big heart stuck inside its forehead, next to the brain, aching to pop out.

It wasn't just my beast's hunger, but Jean-Claude's blood thirst and Richard's craving for flesh. It was all that and the ardeur running through all of it, so that one hunger fed into the next in an endless chain, a snake eating it's own tail, an Ouroboros of desires.