Best 2148 quotes in «horror quotes» category

Deadlines help me, but my muse hates them. My muse functions in fits and starts, and tends to take very long vacations. Deadlines are like a hot poker to his ass. They force us both to sit down and write, which is what it takes to do this.

... death does not bring the life of a man to an end; it only opens the door to a higher form of life.

Death lurked everywhere. Death was alive and well.

Death was a living creature. Death was a man tormented by his past. Death was once a human.

Death. We accept that it's going to happen, but that doesn't make it any less terrifying.

Death..." The voice dropped even more, black-gloved hands disappearing into the black folds of material. "Don't you feel it? We're all dead here...all...very...dead.

Death is not friendly. It's dark, black where you look at it. You're all alone. But it's no different when you're alive, right? No matter how many relationships we seem to have, we're all alone. - Misaki Mei

Death is one lover who cannot be spurned.

Death, man must face...

Defeated, Jo turned her head as the knives hurdled through the air. There was another photograph on the wall: a shot of Franny Jo had never seen before. As the woman in the photo watched her knives driven home, the corners of her mouth turned up. For the first time ever, Jo was privy to a genuine smile on the lips of Franny Trymark.

Defy all that’s holy, for they are the seekers Do the bidding for they are the devil’s speakers

De Herbert West, que fora o meu amigo durante os anos de universidade e tamén fóra dela, tan só podía falar cun intensi terror.

Demons? No problem. Just find your local stalker psycho and ask the whistling dear head hanging above his fireplace how many licks on a toostie pop does it take to make a demon go away.

Depression was like wearing tinted glasses and looking through them changed one's perception dramatically. A fancy new house could be construed as a bunch of boards nailed together.

Despite the horror, we survivors were endowed with a will to survive. Or instinct. Or maybe it was faith.

Despite their displays of bravado, young boys can be peculiarly susceptible to atmosphere ("Between Four Yews")

Di a tus amigos que soy el último de una raza agonizante. Único superviviente de un planeta moribundo. He venido a robar a todas las mujeres... a violar a todos los hombres... y a aprender cómo se baila el twist.

Did I never tell you Sassicaia makes me horny?

Did not the souls also of the righteous ask question of these things in their chambers, saying, "How long shall I hope on this fashion?" when cometh the fruit of the floor of our reward?

Did you ever think it won’t be the undead who kill us, but ordinary people?

Die steinerne Verstocktheit barst, darunter kam die Fratze eines bis zum Irrsinn wütenden Kindes zum Vorschein

Die Geschichte der Monstrositäten und des Grauens ist ein Korb, vollgepackt mit Problemen; wenn der Schriftsteller vorbei kommt, nimmt man einen von seinen imaginären Schrecken aus dem Korb und legt einen eigenen wirklichen dafür hinein - für eine Zeit lang jedenfalls ...

Dirge of the dying and the stench of fear, Black souls repent as hell draws near," - Percy Pemmeney the smuggler, from Curse of Ancient Shadows.

Donald Trump is worse than any horror story I've written.

Divining the difference between reality and the fantastic may not be as simple as it seems. Because the world you think you know may not actually exist…

Does it have a bed?" Liz asked doing her best to prop him up. "A couple of old army cots that probably have more mildew than a politician has bullshit.

Do not be so ridiculous, I can more easily find you someone else.” Gripping the bars of his prison so strongly that the bones of his knuckles showed prominently through his pale skin, the monster growled again, “I will have no other.” Nearing the end of his patience, Klaus demanded, “Why? Why are you being so impossible?” Turning to the diminutive creature beneath the blanket, he smiled nastily, his light red eyes gleaming, “Because he wants her.

Do not wander in the deeps, Where the Shriker's shadow creeps. When he rises from beneath, Beware the Sharpness of his teeth.

Do not shoot anyone, if you are unsure! If you can save a life tonight, then you would have done your job well!” At this point, he was not sure they’d make it out of this alive, but he was prepared to die. “It was a pleasure working with you gentlemen! Make me proud!

Don't be afraid of the dark, it's a place where you can hide.

...Don't be surprised, and I say it darkly, do not be surprised if you lose your Luke in this cause; perhaps Mrs. Dudley has not yet had her own mid morning snack, and she is perfectly capable of a filet de Luke á la meuniére, or perhaps dieppoise, depending upon her mood; if I do not return" -and he shook his finger warningly under the doctor's nose- "I entreat you to regard your lunch with the gravest suspicion." Bowing extravagantly, as befitted one off to slay a giant, he closed the door behind him.

Don't Become An Artist, Actor, Muscian, Producer or Writer, Etc, For Only The Money. You May Be Very Dissapointed.

Don't be afraid to express to the world about how you feel... Ask Donald Trump.

Don’t get all gothic and emo on me now. - Tory

Don't Fear the Reaper.

Don't get ahead of the story,lad. You see, it's a very long story- because Danny Lubbins was at sea on that tiny slip of a plank raft... for three hundred days.

Don’t waste a minute fretting over the infinite destructive possibilities of The Singularity. Think of all the fun we’re going to have along the way! It will all be one glorious adventure, start to finish!

Don't tell me it's going to fucking be okay! I am not okay with being that fucker's pinata!

Don’t tell Mom, but I think my little emergency last night was a sign. And I was thinking of you when it happened. So, I’m worried that this is a prediction about you. Do you have something big planned? Something dangerous that you’re going to do?” Mike looked away. He didn’t want to lie to her but he also couldn’t tell her his plan. “Well, whatever it is, don’t do it, okay? You’re going to get the feeling soon too. I know it,” she yawned, “It feels like it’s a long way off, but I’ve never had this strong a reaction before. And now that I’m stuck in bed, I can’t help you…or stop you. So please, whatever you’re doing, let it go, okay? Especially if it’s about the shop. Just let me handle it.” “I’ll be careful,” he said. “Huh?” she yawned again. He didn’t answer. Her eyelids grew heavy until they closed all the way. Mike lifted the sheet that was turned down from the bed and draped it over her. Then, he left the room, closing the door behind him. - Saving Hascal's Horrors

Don’t worry about paying me. Stay alive, child. You must save yourself. And, whatever you do, don’t forget who you are

Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.

Dorothea: "What the fuck are you?" Nix: "A man who wanted to be a God...then changed his mind.

DO YOU 'PREY' WITH THEM (?)

Do you know how to hide a dead body?

Do you realize that a middle-class couple, one archaeologist, one dolls' expert, can't move from their house because ancient spirits are blocking them in? It's a reasonable sort of day's experience, isn't it?

Do you know what it’s like to kill a man? You just pushed a knife into living, moving skin and you realize you pierced a heart that beats against your sharp knife. -Lucas Tyrel

Do you know why the lotus is one of my favorite flowers?" I cocked my head to one side so I could see his expression. He shook his head. "This beautiful flower lives in the most vile, muddy water of swamps and bogs," I said and rubbed the smooth metal of the pendant between my fingers. He frowned. "No, seriously... the grosser the environment, the better," I said. "So let me get this straight. You like a flower that lives in disgusting places?" One of his eyebrows rose. "That ain't right." "No, I love this flower," I corrected. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, "Seriously?" "What?" You don't believe me?" "Sure, I believe you. It's just weird." "I'll tell you why, but only if you promise not to laugh," I said. He nodded. Taking a cleansing breath, I rested my head against the seat, closed my eyes, and took that scary first step. "This flower stays in the mud and muck all night long." I peeked at him without moving my head. His face had become set in the smooth lines of one who listens intently. "Then, at sunrise, it climbs toward the light and opens into a pristine bloom. After the sun goes down, the bloom sinks into the mire. Even though it spends the whole night underwater, the flower emerges every morning as beautiful as the day before." Smiling, I swiveled in my seat to face him. "I love this flower because it reminds me that we get second chances every day, no matter what muck life drags us through.

Dreading dusk, fearing night, praying for dawn.

Dread is the first and the strongest types of fear. It is that tension, that waiting that comes when you know there is something to fear but you have not yet identified what it is. The fear that comes when you first realize that your spouse should have been home an hour ago; when you realize that a window you are sure you closed is now open, the curtains billowing, and you're alone in the house. Terror only comes when you see the thing you're afraid of. The intruder is coming at you with a knife. The headlights coming toward you are clearly in your lane. The Klansmen have emerged from the bushes and one of them is holding a rope. This is when all the muscles of your body, except perhaps the sphincters, tauten and you stand rigid; or you scream; or you run. There is a frenzy to this moment, a climactic power-but it is the power of release, not the power of tension. And bad as it is, it is better than dread in this respect: Now, at lest, you know the face of the thing you fear. You know its borders, its dimensions. You know what to expect. Horror is the weakest of all. After the fearful thing has happened, you see its remainder, its relics. The grisly, hacked-up corpse. Your emotions range from nausea to pity for the victim. And even your pity is tinged with revulsion and disgust; ultimately you reject the scene and deny its humanity; with repetition, horror loses its ability to move you and, to some degree, dehumanizes the victim and therefore dehumanizes you. As the sonderkommandos in the death camps learned, after you move enough naked murdered corpses, it stops making you want to weep or puke. You just do it. They've stopped being people to you.

Duty over fear.