Best 195 quotes in «nightmares quotes» category

He's a nightmare," she said. "I can be, too." Rook answered, his red eyes glowing. "Just try me.

He smelled like alcohol and a bad dream.

He wondered if sanity had completely forsaken him in a land where nightmares and reality existed side-by-side.

His dad's eyes were getting darker. "How bad is it really?" Very bad. Too many fronts to fight. Bur for starters... "That big storm out east?" Jordan and Rook had gone to investigate... "That's the Sandman in the waking world." His dad frowned deeply. He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know what that means." Yeah, well... "Neither do we.

His mind was still at the precinct, where he saw his friend being yanked out of the car. It was an image he would never forget. He dreaded the terrifying experience that must have followed for her. He had a feeling he was going to have nightmares for years.

How's daydreaming affecting nightmares?? Showing the light where is all dark!

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up in a cold sweat thinking I’m being chased by a grunting, disfigured man wielding a hatchet. Usually we're at an abandoned campground, which leads me to believe this is a subconscious mashup of Friday the 13th and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. He never catches me. The only thing that ever happens is I'm running and he's chasing. It's pretty horrible. I know it’s not real, but it feels real, and you know how feelings are. They make everything real.

I am coming to see that the sensation of the worst nightmares, a sensation that can be felt asleep or awake, is identical to those worst dreams' form itself: the sudden intra-dream realization that the nightmares' very essence and center has been with you all along, even awake: it's just been... overlooked.

I awoke to a daymare. Life.

I bolted upright in my bed, gasping for air and still feeling his touch on my hand. I could feel him watching me. I could feel him waiting for me.

I can push everything into the dark.But it leaves me empty.And the dark always ends up finding me in my sleep

I could either succumb to the nightmares I’ve raised or paint them.

I am kinda lost, don't know who I am, what am doing, and why I am in it. Everything around me is more like a weird dream. I wish I could wake up. Before the dream finishes me.

I'd ask my parents to leave the door open just a little bit so I wouldn't be stuck in the prison of my bedroom and mind, the imaginary horrors barring me from entering dreamland.

I do have nightmares. So what? I wouldn’t trade places with any of the f**kers I killed. Am I afraid of Hell? No. I’ve been. It’s worse than advertised but not as bad as imagined. ~ Brandon Hull

If i can't be your true love, i want to be your worst nightmare.

I don't know if I'm dreaming when I sleep or sleeping while I'm awake, but I have reoccurring dreams my mind cannot take

I dreamed in night vision; white flowers of nocturnal gun fire – day residue shot to hell. If I held my dreams to a windowsill, sun would sieve through my screams.

If anyone comes, shoot first, ask questions later.

I found him between a reality and a nightmare.

If we didn't have nightmares, we wouldn't wake up every morning chasing our dreams.

If you can think of anything more terrifying than that happening to you in the middle of the night, then let's hear about it.

I had lied to myself from the very beginning, deceived myself into believing that I was being fanciful and overly imaginative. Surely such monstrosities only existed in nightmares? Yet I had lived through a nightmare these past months, and that was no dream at all.        I was still fighting against the awful truth, not wanting to give in, searching my mind for a logical explanation—but there was none. And the most horrible realization of all was that I had known, somewhere deep inside, ever since the day I first set eyes on Vladec Salei.        Plague carrier.        Living death.        Drainer of life.        The phrasing did not matter. No euphemism could strike fear into the hearts of men the way that single word could.        Vampire.         And for me, the uninitiated, that single word meant death.

If you look into someone else’s dreams, all you ever find are nightmares.

I look my nightmares in the eye. And if my nightmares shoud look back, they see nothing but shadow.

I have lain long here in your mind, longer than any nightmare has before me. I have sunk my roots into your worst imaginings and feasted on your memories. I know you, child.

I love bad dreams. They remind me of the goodness of life.

I needed a moment to understand that I'd been dreaming, that I had come awake, and another moment to remember where I had gone to bed.

I really like it when a bad dream doesn't scare you...it inspires you instead'.

In my sleep I have my nightmares, awake I have my thoughts, I am not sure which is worse.

In these myriad ways, we carved out our lives in Los Angeles. Yet falling asleep was often an act of travel, taking me quickly by the hand so that I am instantly surrounded by verdant foliage, the ocean's emerald roar, the voices of Alice, Mala, our grandmother. Those most familiar and beloved of women. But there are also nightmares. Over and over I dream of a small house, a glittering lagoon, a mango tree, and a young girl. She stands before me and her large bruised eyes do not leave mine. When she unpins the sari fold at her shoulder and pulls it away from her, I see sunset-colored bruises on her delicate clavicles. When she undoes her sari blouse, I see the grenades tucked like extra breasts under her own. It is grotesque. I wake trembling, and her eyes stays with me for hours.

In nightmares we can think the worst. That's what they're for, I guess.

In the daylight we know what’s gone is gone, but at night it’s different. Nothing gets finished, not dying, not mourning;

Isn’t so scary that the person you used to daydream about is the same one who left you with so many nightmares?!

Is she okay?" Harlen's throat was clogged with stones of fear. "She has to be okay.

I spent many years trying to make up reasons about why I had the flashbacks, memories, continuous nightmares. When I finally decided to quit trying to hide from truth, I began to heal.

It's because the door hasn't been closed yet that the nightmares still find their way in.

I thought when the abuse stopped I could move on with my life. Instead I am still running from Brian. The only difference is now I am running from him in my dreams.

It is a law of nature that a dream carried for too long inside you must, eventually, begin to rot.

It's the place where dreams end and nightmares begin—it's the world of Intimate Partner Violence (IPV).

It's time to laugh at your nightmares and have nightmares of your laughter.

I wish this were just a nightmare that we could wake up from.

It was a time of dark dreams. They washed in like flotsam on the night tide, slipping beneath doorways and window latches, rising through the streets and hills; and the little fishing-town of Scarlock foundered deep.

I woke with sweat beading across my forehead and my hands balled into fists clutching the sheet over my eyes. The dreams. They were back. Haunting me relentlessly. I thought they were gone... I should've known better. (Rayne)

I wonder sometimes if the thoughts that flock my nightmares are abandoned memories coming home to roost.

It was so awful! And he kept on looking at me and I knew I must get out of bed or he'd come and touch me. I did, too, but when I got out I wasn't me-I was a little white bunny. And he started out of the room and I had to go with him for fear he'd touch me. It felt so horrid, going out with him and looking back at mother there asleep. "We went into the main part of the house, and one of the big front doors was open, and we went out through it. And then he gave a big jump, and so did I, and it took us clear up into the sky. We couldn't fly, but we kept jumping and jumping. "Sometimes we stayed in the sky a little while, jumping from cloud to cloud, and the moon would get closer and closer and bigger and bigger, and its face would change and get horrible and grin at us until it seemed like its mouth was a mile wide and open, to swallow us up. And then we'd come down again and jump from one cliff to another, and the sea would be roaring down under us, and the waves all grey and cold and moving around and boiling like they were mad or afraid. "We went all over the island and sometimes we jumped over the sea to the mainland and back again; and sometimes I tried to get away and run back to Mother - I thought she'd know me even if I was a bunny - but always, whichever way I turned, the hare was there in front of me, and his teeth were shining. "We kept it up all night, and I was so tired and cold and miserable, and so scared. I didn't know whether he would ever let me go home or whether he would take me to Aunt Sarai. Then finally I did get away and the hare chased me!" She broke off, her voice rising again to a wail. "It was so awful! I ran all over the island, into all sorts of queer little places that I never knew were there before - it seems so different after dark - and finally, when two or three times I'd been so tired that I thought I just couldn't go any farther, before he caught me, I saw the house in front of me and the front door still open and I started to run in, and then I thought - what if they'd planned it that way, and Aunt Sarai had come down from her portrait and was inside there in the dark, waiting for me?

I’ve long considered becoming a writer to be the death of nightmares. For me at least, since I started writing I hadn’t had any. Something really terrible or awful happens in a dream and you wake up and think, awesome, and reach for a pen and paper.

I want to wake up!" a young woman shouted to the classroom ceiling. With her wide-set eyes and freckles, she looked like a nice person. Then a knobby-boned creature advanced on her. But she couldn't wake. And she likely wouldn't ever again.

I woke myself in the darkness, and I knew only that a dream had scared me so badly that I had to wake up or die, and yet, try as I might, I could not remember what I had dreamed. The dream was haunting me: standing behind me, present and yet invisible, like the back of my head, simultaneously there and not there.

Man, a gigantic child, must play with Babylon and Nineveh, with Isis and with Ashtaroth. By all means let him dream of the Bondage of Egypt, so long as he is free from it. By all means let him take up the Burden of Tyre, so long as he can take it lightly. But the old gods must be his dolls, not his idols. His central sanctities, his true possessions, should be Christian and simple. And just as a child would cherish most a wooden horse or a sword that is a mere cross of wood, so man, the great child, must cherish most the old plain things of poetry and piety; that horse of wood that was the epic end of Ilium, or that cross of wood that redeemed and conquered the world.