Best 242 quotes in «nightmare quotes» category

Please God, when I open my eyes, make this nightmare disappear.

She wasn't a Renegade. She was Nightmare. And she did not like to be seen.

Rape, cockroaches... are still a real nightmare.

SHOCK ABSORBERS Veterans scream in their dreams, reliving nightmares so that we can sleep peacefully

Some have the fortune to wake up from a nightmare (...) Others live in a constant nightmare.

The biggest barrier in success is the nightmare – You will have to endure the nightmare to be successful.

The day will come when we strike you down,” she’s saying. “Mark my words. We will haunt your nightmares.” I clench my fists and fling an illusion of pain across her body. “I am the nightmare.

The Kaffir, who tended the garden and looked after the chickens, in Cracow, used to sleep in the pigeon loft. He said it was "very good for the breath": One night, I had this terrifying dream. A huge corkscrew, which was the earth, was spinning round, turning on its axis and twisting in its own spiral, just like the signs outside American barbershops, and I could see myself, no bigger than a bug but not hanging on so well, slither and stumble over the helix, and with my thoughts sent whirling down moving staircases made of a priori shapes. Suddenly, the fatal moment, there is a loud crack, my neck snaps, I fall flat on my face and I emerge in a splash of sparks before the Kaffir who had come to wake me. He says: "Did you have an attack of the nasties, then? Come and look at this": And he leads me to the pigeon loft and gets me to peep through a hole in the wall. I put my eye to it. I see a terrifying sight: a huge corkscrew, which was the Earth, was spinning round, turning on its axis and twisting in its own spiral, just like the signs outside American barbershops, and I could see myself, no bigger than a bug, but not hanging on so well....' Eyes popping, the bumps on his forehead lit up, his moustache bristling, little Sidonius began the story again, which slotted into itself endlessly like the popular refrains everybody knows. He spoke feverishly, mangling his words. I listened, paralyzed with horror, at least ten times to his appalling rotating story. Then I went off to get a drink.

Then the man smiled, and his smile was a shock, for it was all on one side, going up in the right cheek and down in the left. There was nothing, rationally speaking, to scare anyone about this. Many people have this nervous trick of a crooked smile, and in many it is even attractive. But in all Syme's circumstances, with the dark dawn and the deadly errand and the loneliness on the great dripping stones, there was something unnerving in it. There was the silent river and the silent man, a man of even classic face. And there was the last nightmare touch that his smile suddenly went wrong.

The only way to stop a nightmare is to open your eyes, if perchance you realize you were dreaming

Rare indeed is the seed who can bury its nightmares & still stem & blossom into its wildest dreams.

She is a double danger—there is the danger of meeting her, and the danger of becoming her. Does the nightmare of her belong to everyone, or just to me?

Some have the fortune to wake up from a nightmare (...) Others live in a constant daymare.

Some stuff are kind of nightmarish... or chillish... This are Reddit Collection #1,2,3 and soona 4!

Sometimes Geraldine feels like she can drive forever. Maybe that’s partially why she took a job at Milo General Motors. Driving is the best means of escape that the human race has, at least, that’s her opinion. She’s never had the guts to try drugs before, both because her sister was a junkie in the last few months she knew her, and because she’s heard the overdose horror stories, seen 'Requiem for a Dream', smelled the vapours of a meth lab that Julia’s boyfriend built, heard the crunching glass of crack vials and heroine needles when they happen to break. Even this alone is too surreal, not to mention that if she were high or tripping on acid or whatever the drug of choice may be, this would give the ghosts more power to morph into something even more nightmarish than they already are.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’ll wake up with sweat drenching my chest and think it’s the blood and muck I was covered in that night.

Sometimes I wish I had not woken up from a beautiful dream, and continued dreaming within sleep upon sleep until I become a dream itself. Because sometimes waking up is more frightening than a nightmare.

Success is subjective. Your dream bank balance could be someone else’s nightmare.

The paint is drying, and time is dying. The pain is crying, lying on my back, trying to get back the time, to brushstrokes too fast, wet went dry and love went dull; now I live in a portrait I never painted.

The pursuit of a dream partner can lead to a nightmare relationship.

The reality of the USA for people who are disabled and are unable to be awarded government disability is that it is a living nightmare.

Therefore I see no wrong in riding with the Nightmare to-night; she whinnies to me from the rocking tree-tops and the roaring wind; I will catch her and ride her through the awful air. Woods and weeds are alike tugging at the roots in the rising tempest, as if all wished to fly with us over the moon, like that wild, amorous cow whose child was the Moon-Calf. We will rise to that mad infinite where there is neither up nor down, the high topsy-turveydom of the heavens. I will ride on the Nightmare; but she shall not ride on me.

There is such longing in me for music. A closed piano is my biggest nightmare.

That done, I sank into an uneasy sleep wherein I dreamed of an assembly line of pale, bloodless girls walking down an endless dark street and moaning softly for help. Somewhere, toward the edge of my inner vision, a shadowy figure pursued them with long, beckoning arms. Goddamn booze! Somewhere in the midst of this ghoulish girl parade Cairncross materialized and hung a garland of garlic around my neck, glaring at me with his good eye and intoning, 'Go and sin no more.' Vincenzo appeared at Cairncross' side and together they laughed insanely, then vanished in a puff of sulphurous smoke. I made several high-minded resolutions, muttered half-heard but sincere-sounding prayers to all the recently deposed saints, thrashed and rolled clean off the bed. I might just as well have stayed up.

There's no rule that says you have to be a prodigy to be a hero," she insisted. "If people wanted to stand up for themselves or protect their loved ones or do what they believe in their hearts is the right thing to do, then they would do it. If they wanted to be heroic, they would find ways to be heroic, even without supernatural powers.

There's not one good thought in that place. There's nothing but waste and want. I can feel his selfish cravings and an abyss of secrets I hope to never know.

The splendor of that moment, its transcendent glory and aliveness, haunted him. He could thrust it aside by day, but it poisoned his dreams by night, calling to him and pleading with him to unlock the chains he'd bound about it.

The unknown grayish mystifying forest was benumbed into frost-covered cold, and the tremendous pines towering above the dark marshy soil resembled a gathering of severe mute brothers from a forbidden ancient order worshiping forgotten gods no one had ever heard of outside of the world of secret occult visions.

The wind blew through the window. The trousers swayed. Doubtless when they were on Mr. Craggs, the trousers looked splendid and went perfectly well together with his body. But like this, isolated in space, Mr. Cragg's trousers were nightmarish. The wind blew through the window. As they swayed, the trousers were alive. A shot, truncated, square creature consisting entirely of legs, belly and what went with them. And now it would get down and start walking among people and over people and grow and...

The wind took me away from you, Draped with fear, waking nightmare, I lost all sense of who I could become, Your exuberant hold slipped away, Irresolute, impulsive, irreconcilable.

The writer dreams awake. The killer nightmares awake. (L’écrivain rêve éveillé. - Le tueur cauchemarde éveillé)

They say it came from Africa, carried in the screams of the enslaved; that it was the death bane of the Tainos, uttered just as one world perished and another began; that it was a demon drawn into Creation through the nightmare door that was cracked open in the Antilles. Fukú americanus, or more colloquially, fukú - generally a curse or doom of some kind; specifically the Curse and the Doom of the New World. No matter what its name or provenance, it is believed that the arrival of Europeans on Hispaniola unleashed fukú on the world, and we've all been in the shit ever since.

This nightmare isn’t over. It’s just beginning.

Tomorrow could be just few steps away - a dream, yesterday the fucking nightmare...

Too often dreams become living nightmares when we turn goals into jobs.

Unless it is you, finding out who your lover’s dream lover is is a nightmare.

Vision with action and commitment can change the world, but without action it's just a dream, and without commitment it's a nightmare.

We all have different dreams and different worlds we want to dominate. Your favorite food is someone else's phobia. Your dream job is someone else's worst nightmare. Your perfect world is unique to you.

Wednesday. March 16 Isn't it strange that it hasn't occurred to me to put my relationship with Clarimonda on a more serious basis than these endless games. Last night, I thought about this...I can, of course, put on my hat and coat, walk down two flights of stairs, take five steps across the street and mount two flights to her door which is marked with a small sign that says "Clarimonda." Clarimonda what? I don't know. Something. Then I can knock and... Up to this point I imagine everything very clearly, but I cannot see what should happen next. I know that the door opens. But then I stand before it, looking into a dark void. Clarimonda doesn't come. Nothing comes. Nothing is there, only the black, impenetrable dark. "The Spider

Welcome my new paranoia, if you are not my reality, so where the hell is the fucking reality!?!?! To be or not to be?! this is the paranoia of my sweet dreams. So you are more than welcome to my paradox, to my mind, to my existence. Consume from my brains flesh. There is no ending of this portion for you. My mind is the Prometheus of the time. Endless resource for paranoia.

We were happy. I know I ought to be able to tell you about it, yet I cannot, for while a nightmare will stay with you like hunger, when you awake from a happy dream, you have no memory of it.

Whatever. I know that when a monster is chasing you. You take your high-heeled shoes off. I’ve learned that … And you never, ever dangle your legs over the edge of the bed at night … And clowns, well, you get rid of them right away; they are just way too freaky. If the monster doesn’t get you, the clown sure will.

When goals become jobs to be done, dreams are nightmares we avoid. Keep things fun.

When life is a horror.... Don't look like a ghost!

When your dream turns into a nightmare, rise to the challenge and slaughter the dragons

There is no reason for any of this if we don't survive." Vince reached out and ran a hand through her long hair. "Ah, love. That's where you're wrong. As long as we do what we're meant to do, it doesn't really matter if we survive or not.

to all those who slept through the nightmare till it ended, you will remember your nightmares and it will be easier to confront them when they come again for you.

Would've been useful when I was about eight," I said. "I used to have wicked nightmares." I did, too: stupid dreams about being chased by Elmo. A psycho Elmo with eyes like that Chucky doll. I'd wake up screaming and Vicky would come running in and ask what the nightmare was about. I never told her. I was too embarrassed.

All our best men are laughed at in this nightmare land.

When you think and act opposite to love, you find yourself powerless and life becomes a frightening nightmare.