Best 1001 quotes in «thriller quotes» category

Abel Muranda fought off furious red ants with mandibles that could cut through a miser's padlock.

A beautiful body perishes, but a work of art dies not.” ~ Leonardo da Vinci

A chill went down her back, her body shivering. The hairs on her arms stood on end. She felt eyes on her.

Actions have consequences. Kids today don’t think about that. It’s like, ‘Hey, wouldn’t this be awesome?!’ Consequences? What are those?

AD Jones' Büro ist fensterlos und nüchtern. Er hat sich ein Eckbüro mit großartiger Aussicht nehmen können, doch als ich ihn einmal deswegen gefragt habe, lautete seine Antwort sinngemäß: "Ein guter Chef sollte nicht allzu viel Zeit im Büro verbringen." p. 26

...a fissure appeared. Splinters of plastic broke away around it, and the fissure widened, radiating further fractures. When the first leg broke out, Simon tried to shriek.

A good tanto is a nasty thing, and when the point entered a human neck, it was like the last period in a biography.

Ah, you're warming up to me. You know what comes next." "Bitter disappointment?" she deadpanned.

Alexei met Stanislav’s gaze. “I like her.” He smiled. “I like her more.

All great ideas, all great leaps of progress, all have a wake of sacrificial bodies.

All I know is that the fear I have been battling all night is breaking down the door of my ignorance. As my feet slam down I feel not the hard, wet asphalt but the soft Persian rug that led to the staircase in my father’s home. In the glow of lightning the dancing trees are illuminated but I see my mother in the glow of candlelight, spinning, twirling, her hair fanned out behind her. It is falling over me, saturating my thoughts, and I cannot. I cannot let it in.

Allow yourself to fall, giving up the effort to learn how to fly, knowing someone will be there to catch you.

A lone Japanese man stood on the sidewalk a short distance away. Sleek, self-possessed, dressed in gray. Emma’s lover. Moon’s prime suspect. The man who had once been Dr. Toshi Okada—maimed, supposedly dead, come back alive for revenge.

Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest. - Mark Twain

ALWAYS KEEP YOUR DREAMS ALIVE

Amaya went to sit on a bench nearby. She had been to the park numerous times with Agastya, and just being there with another man made her feel like she was cheating. But Agastya was dead. Long gone. She took out his diary and started reading it.

And I smile at him, happy. Because it turns out the only thing better than sharing your own worst secrets is when the person you love shares his with you.

And many false prophets shall rise, and shall deceive many.

And when whatever happened in that barn happened, it was a moment I’ll never forget. Like a missing key slid into a dusty old lock. Click. My world opened.

Another tug and a yank at my chestnut curls and she snarls at me, “You are so much like her.” This is something my mother often says and never explains. Though it is a great mystery to me it is also a blessing, for she always hurries from the room after saying it.

Another ship. It’s the best news I could ever have imagined. Who are they going to send? Who’s coming? I stare out of the helm window, straining my eyes against the infinite blackness, pressing my fingernails into my palms so hard they sting. I can’t see anything except the silver pinprick stars. How long until I’ll be able to see The Eternity? How long until it will be able to see me?

Anticipation tingled in my stomach: the kind of tingle that at first you don’t know if it’s a good tingle or a bad tingle – just a tingle.

Any self-defense class worth its salt will tell you that you don’t pull out a weapon unless you intend to use it. The same should apply to ballsy remarks.

Are you a house-wife, Mrs Silvers?' he asked. 'What would you recommend for getting burger relish out of a white shirt?' The seething woman cranked the venom-level of her gaze up to eleven, and Raven smiled pleasantly back.

A riverless silence made the air heavy.

As a writer, I will go down any dark alley, inch my way through the tightest crawl space, and feed on your every fear. I will take your sense of calm and tear it to shreds. - Horror Author Barbara Watkins

As Evelyn slid to a stop in the center of the hallway, Butler calmly shook his head. Then he lifted his machine gun and fired.

A sickening smirk spread across his face, and Abigale realized then just how insane he really was.

A single lie is the father of all lies

As much as I'm turned on by your buff, sexy body pressing against mine, if you could please roll off of me, I'll get my guns.

A soft mist blew around them. Raindrops glistened in his hair, shimmering under the pale glow of the light post. His eyes were shadowed beneath wispy fringes, but the silver in them glinted like pools of liquid mercury. Her breath caught. It must have made a sound because his fingers tightened. His shaky exhale whispered across her face. “This,” he whispered so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. “Is why you are so bad for me.

As she walked to the stairway, he pulled her back with a light tug on her shoulder. "They're responding to you now." Turning to face him, she said, "Responding to me? What did I say?" "The hallway was full of them. When you said we were going downstairs to eat, they started filing down the stairs." "They all took the stairs?" Eddie nodded, his shining, gifted eyes watching the ghostly procession. He said, "They don't want to be far from you, Jess. And I'm not entire sure it's well intentioned." "Come to use," the voices whispered.

As the flag of power ascends, it will oppress the masses and enslave its masters. Freedom will fail and the world will be razed to ruin, no matter how honorable the intentions of those in power might have been. It is the inevitable outcome, because the individual is not perfect and, as such, the world will never be.

As the sun rules the day and the moon governs the night, so too, we are connected by: the air that we breathe, light that we see and the darkness that follows. Life is too short to waste it on disagreements. Surely, we can all agree to disagree. So let us find a common ground, form a union and spread joy, happiness and freedom around the world for the benefit of you, me and the future generations to come.

At a hundred and twenty five miles per hour, with the wind rushing in his face, darkness around him, he is alone in the universe, but then, Zeb has been alone all his life.

At forty-one, he was still the quintessential bad boy—charming, at ease in his skin, and great-looking, with deep blue eyes, slicked-back brown hair, and the kind of full, sensuous mouth that bad boys seemed to have an unfair market on.

A tree.” She spotted one. It was hidden behind a much larger tree, its limbs misshapen in its attempt to fight for even a little sunlight in the shadow. “Dana has this tradition of giving a sad-looking tree the honor of being a Christmas tree.” She walked over to the small, nearly hidden tree. “I like this one. “It’s…” He laughed. “Ugly?” “No, it’s beautiful because it’s had a hard life. It’s struggled to survive against all odds and would keep doing that without much hope. But it has a chance to be something special.

At this place in time, neither of them were foreign to each other. They were just two humans alone in the middle of the sky. The differences between them now were immaterial, like the faint whisper of traffic far below.

At the witching hour, the city was totally silent. Only the wind of portent blew through the gathered council of whispering brick chimneys on the rooftops, delivering the hand that would write upon the wall.

Because if a woman can't trust the man who said he'd love her forever, who in this world can you trust?

Because of course, for every revelation of weakness, there had to be an equal and opposite show of strength.

Beck, listen to me. Benji is an asshole. Okay?" I want to scream YES but I sit. Still. Benji. "Listen, Beck," Chana rails on. "Some guys are assholes and you have to accept that. You can buy him all the books in the world and he's still gonna be Benji. He'll never be Benjamin or, God forbid, Ben because he doesn't have to, because he's a permanent man-baby, okay? He and his club soda can fuck off and so can his stupid ass name. I mean seriously, Benji? Is he kidding? And the way he says it. Like it's Asian or French. Ben Geeee. Dude, just fuck off." Lynn sigh. "I never thought about it that much. Benji. Ben Gee. Gee, Ben." There's a little laughter now and I am learning things about Benji. I don't like it but I have to accept it. Benji is real and I get another vodka soda. Benji.

Before the autumn of our years, there exists a time when we struggle to reconcile what we are with what we wish to be. This time can be known as summer. After spring gives us life, before winter takes it away.

Being a Berlin cop in 1942 was a little like putting down mousetraps in a cage full of tigers.

Being in the belly of the beast has its benefits.

Blood is a reservoir of delights. It is a treasure trove for those who know what to look for, and how to isolate it from the rest of the junk. I know how to do both.

Bold courage is paralyzing fear after humble prayer.

Books are keys that open many doors.

Brian came in heavy at that moment on his guitar, the rapid, high-pitched squeal ranging back and forth as his fingers flew along the frets. As the intro's tempo grew more rapid, Bekka heard Derek's subtle bass line as it worked its way in. After another few seconds Will came in, slow at first, but racing along to match the others' pace. When their combined efforts seemed unable to get any heavier, David jumped into the mix. As the sound got nice and heavy, Bekka began to rock back-and-forth onstage. In front of her, hundreds of metal-lovers began to jump and gyrate to their music. She matched their movements for a moment, enjoying the connection that was being made, before stepping over to the keyboard that had been set up behind her. Sliding her microphone into an attached cradle, she assumed her position and got ready. Right on cue, all the others stopped playing, throwing the auditorium into an abrupt silence. Before the crowd could react, however, Bekka's fingers began to work the keys, issuing a rhythm that was much softer and slower than what had been built up. The audience's violent thrash-dance calmed at that moment and they began to sway in response. Bekka smiled to herself. This is what she lived for.

But as Max tugged him out the door a different feeling stole over him, something strange, behind the regret, deeper than the mourning. It wasn't until much later that he was able to identify it. Excitment.