Best 105 quotes in «haunted quotes» category

Although terrifying, the evil ghost will probably pose no real danger to you or your family. On the other hand, if you have a demonic infestation, your entire household is in very real danger. A demonic entity will not usually confront you or induce you to flee the home. Because, unlike the evil ghost, the demon does not actually want you to leave. On the contrary, it wants you to stick around so it can destroy your life and sully your soul from the inside.

98% of reported hauntings have a natural and mundane explanation … it is the other 2% that have interested me for over 40 years.

A moment of silence settled over all of them. Then Velva broke it. “We are the hunter and the haunter, the haunted and hunted.…” “But for what purpose?” asked Sir Sun. “It is all for the same purpose, Timothy.  The empty that wish to be full.

And yet is not mankind itself, pushing on its blind way, driven by a dream of its greatness and its power upon the dark paths of excessive cruelty and of excessive devotion. And what is the pursuit of truth, after all?

Are you a pirate?

As she opened it, Latra jumped out from the side, ripping at Aijayy’s face, blood pouring out, some running into her mouth. Her death became a certainty in her mind, and she abandoned herself to it, dropping to the ground, everything going fuzzy. Latra jumped at her like an animal possessed, high in the air, falling. Benshi Phased through the ceiling, grabbing the chandelier on his way down and landing on top of Latra. The sorceress rose up, holding Benshi by the throat. He looked surprisingly calm.

And isn't it better to be haunted by ghosts of the living rather than the dead?

Because she—you hear her—she's calling, and is always going to call, and it's better both of us die by the dagger without anyone seeing us, Orestes, and die a fit death.

Every town has ‘THAT house’: the one that once held dark secrets. You know the house… the one no one will purchase? The one whose walls have seen blood? The one that even birds avoid, and the darkened windows resemble empty eye sockets? There are furtive, yet insistent, whispers about ‘that’ house, murmurs that perhaps the house is best left alone, lest the dark stain left upon that abode’s history seep into our own present-day.

But walking through it all was one thing; walking away, unfortunately, has proved to be quite another, and though once I thought I had left that ravine forever on an April afternoon long ago, now I am not so sure. Now the searchers have departed, and life has grown quiet around me, I have come to realize that while for years I might have imagined myself to be somewhere else, in reality I have been there all the time: up at the top by the muddy wheel-ruts in the new grass, where the sky is dark over the shivering apple blossoms and the first chill of the snow that will fall that night is already in the air.

Calm down. Ghosts don’t ring the doorbell.

Darkness lingered in those blue eyes, like ghosts haunted him despite only the two of them standing in this cabin.

Death never plays by the rules. And I think that's why we, as mortal beings, fear it so much. Not because it's an inevitability, but because it's so unpredictable. We all know it's coming for us. We can just never be sure exactly when.

Despite the way she rallied, the haunted look in her eyes was enough to break him, as lost and lonely as an abandoned child’s.

experiencing this much fear made it impossible to continue to be afraid of ending relationships with people that were unhealthy- as if there was no more room inside me to be afraid. The fear made me stronger.

Ghosts don’t stay buried when they’re laced in gold.

Have you come to return my pussy?” I shook my head, sure the reception must be bad. “Huh?” “My cat. You stole my cat yesterday. Have you come to return him?

He had been haunted his whole life by a mild case of claustrophobia—the vestige of a childhood incident he had never quite overcome. Langdon’s aversion to closed spaces was by no means debilitating, but it had always frustrated him. It manifested itself in subtle ways. He avoided enclosed sports like racquetball or squash, and he had gladly paid a small fortune for his airy, high-ceilinged Victorian home even though economical faculty housing was readily available. Langdon had often suspected his attraction to the art world as a young boy sprang from his love of museums’ wide open spaces.

Charleston is an extraordinary place. There is a deep connection between the residents and nearly three hundred and fifty years of history, and those ties between daily life and the distant past are strengthened by the occasional glimpse beyond the veil.

Ghost Hampton" took me years to write -- but it won't take you that long to read!

Godless, 'we had no war.' Until God set us to fight each other, for the rest of human history.

Haunted by the unhappiness that appeared like an ugly creature to live in their home

He haunted my heart, silently. Like a murmur, and a shadow; that could only be heard by myself. Alone, in a dark room.

He stood in a room, looking around, seeing thousands of himself. He banged the walls made of mirrors, but they wouldn't break. Thier laugh filled his heart and with fear, he curled up and sat there. And then She came out of nowhere and wrapped her arm around him. She held his hand, together they got up and walked towards a wall. He raised his head and looked at the reflections, but all he saw there was only him. She turned and smiled at him and touched the wall. It cracked and shattered into pieces. She inside him broke all the walls around him. He was free, he was not held and haunted by his reflections anymore.

He's dead, but he still chases me. He wrote fear into my mind with ink fashioned from his own blood. His words are stamped upon the shadows, gnats swarming about my shoulders.

He stroked her back and kept a fierce grip on her like she’d fade away into one of the thousands of ghosts in this cemetery.

I am stupid, am I not? What more can I want? If you ask them who is brave--who is true--who is just--who is it they would trust with their lives?--they would say, Tuan Jim. And yet they can never know the real, real truth....

His ghost comes back to be remembered. If he can’t be in this life, he procures a way to stay in orbit, and in that way, is never forgotten.

He was so big he made my sofa seem more like a loveseat. He was so at ease with himself and his body that I found it hard to reconcile him with the awkward teenager that had stolen my heart. He was so fucking beautiful, it took my breath away.

I can't be free of this place, this haunted torture chamber echoing with thousands of years of blighted history. I can paint the walls, but I can't scrape the malice from the mortar. I can burn the curtains, but the blood splattered upon them only transitions to ash that stains the hearth.

I first witnessed the paranormal at the tender age of eight. This experience unlocked a doorway to a world full of unexplained mysteries, miraculous insights, and terrifying ghostly visits that have spanned a lifetime. Join me as I explore these stories…one book at a time.” ~L. Sydney Fisher

I didn't sleep well last night because one of my ghosts came back, haunting with his presence, and when I woke up, the others weren't here, haunting with their memory.

If we can forgive what has been done to us . . . If we can forgive what we've done to others . . . If we can leave all of our stories behind. Our being villians or victims. Only then can we maybe rescue the world. But we still sit here, waiting to be saved. While we're still victims, hoping to be discovered while we suffer.

If your spirit is persistently harmless or if it has shown itself to you, in a non-threatening way, then you most definitely have a ghost. The ghost can be frightening, by its very nature. But the ghost will never intentionally frighten you. They will be there for three reasons: 1. They used to live there and are attached to the location 2. They are trying to communicate something to the living or 3. They are protective of somebody who lives in the house and so they are “standing guard” so to speak, over the loved one.

I have been both a ghost and haunted in the city I love.

I have only to glance over my shoulder for all those years to drop away and I see it behind me again, the ravine, rising all green and black through the saplings, a picture that will never leave me.

..., imagine a loamy earth that starts with genocide, then adds a mix of further disease, wars, hurricanes, murder, great fires, dueling, insurrection and slavery, just to name a few of the many instances of tragedy. What dark seed would take root in such a disturbed and twisted soil?

I mean, what if you don’t get over him? What if you just learn how to get on without him? People who’ve been in love have that haunted look in their eyes. It’s like a piece of them is unattainable, forever held back and protected at all cost.

It took a pair of ghosts to open my eyes.

I just can’t do it anymore. It’s too painful. It doesn’t mean I’m over you, it means I’m not going to waste the rest of my life being haunted by your memory.

I now know how your anger came from skeletons that rattled in your heart and you couldn't escape them.

It's scary how you can be haunted by someone who is still alive.

I turned to him and he reached for my hand. It would have been easier to walk away. But the wind still blew around us and the house still stood.

It was haunted; but real hauntings have nothing to do with ghosts finally; they have to do with the menace of memory.

It was past eight on a Friday night, so calling the Homeward to speak to Dr. Casbus was out of the question. The head nurse would never bother him this late. A sly idea struck me. Just because I couldn’t call the doctor, didn’t mean I couldn’t go see him in person. I’d gone to the Homeward at night before. On those nights when I’d been afraid for my mother, afraid she’d be scared, or missing me, or they would be hurting her with their treatments. The head nurse, Mrs. Huds didn’t like it, but Casbus always showed up to save me from her lecture on rules. He didn’t let me have a room to stay in—it wasn’t the Holiday Inn, but he’d let me stay long enough to dial down my fears a notch or two. And sometimes, I learned more about myself, like the last after-hours session, when Casbus had explained why I had holes in my memories.

I will not exorcise you—I’d miss your fragrance, the soft tread of your step on the stair

I dream the scent of my mother's lipstick has come back to haunt me— like an oil pastel marking my dreary, dramatic heart.

It waited for her. Standing resolute in the moonlight, it had stood for a hundred years. Yet it waited just for her. Shadows passed across the moon, a cool breeze ruffled the leaves around it. Yet still it waited for her. Ancient tombs glowed in shimmery moonlight, row upon row of cold silent witnesses.

It was raining outside. It wasn’t heavy, but it left droplets on the windows, making it look like the window was covered in glitter which gleamed and shone in the candlelight. There was something outlandish about the place. It wasn’t only the grand rooms and the exquisite décor and not even the sheer size of the building; there was more to it. It was a feeling. She felt enveloped in it day and night. It wasn’t unpleasant or choking, but it wasn’t cosy and welcoming either. It was just there, like a straitjacket. She hoped that there could have been a bit more glitter and glamour to her days. She wasn’t exactly a sparkly kind of girl, but she missed… something.

No. No… No!’ the fear ebbed my voice, cut through me like a knife. I ran, bare feet slipping and sliding over the floorboards. I turned the corner and headed for the backdoor. Run. Run. I must run. As soon as I reached the backdoor in the kitchen, pulling the barn door from the hinges, I felt his gaze upon me. Cinders and kindling crunched at my feet; what had once been my lovely mahogany kitchen furniture was now little more than firewood. My crockery and china splintered in shards and as I turned to face him, I felt them dig into my skin, cut me with every shiver that bolted through my frame. ‘You wanted Hemlock House. You have, Hemlock House.’ His voice was dark, cruel and yet hauntingly light. As if cooing, whispering to a newborn. He was lounging against the countertop as if waiting for breakfast, as if waiting for something so meaningless.