Best 2148 quotes in «horror quotes» category

Violet carved her hate into her flesh one name at a time.

Walk with this tomorrow night. If nothing happens, then don’t come back. Forget about us, this place, but if you feel the Nightwalker in you awaken, then return to where you belong. Return to me, and the streets will run red with blood.

Walpurgis Night, when, according to the belief of millions of people, the devil was abroad - when the graves were opened and the dead came forth and walked. When all evil things of earth and air and water held revel. This very place the driver had specially shunned. This was the depopulated village of centuries ago. This was where the suicide lay; and this was the place where I was, alone - unmanned, shivering with cold in a shroud of snow with a wild storm gathering again upon me! It took all my philosophy, all the religion I had been taught, all my courage, not to collapse in a paroxysm of fright. (Dracula's Guest)

(Washington) Irving was only the first of the writers of the American ghostly tale to recognize that the supernatural, exactly because its epistemological status is so difficult to determine, challenged the writer to invent a commensurately sophisticated narrative technique.

(W.D.) Howells asserted that the Americans' 'love of the supernatural is their common inheritance from no particular ancestry.' Their fiction, he added, often gathers in the gray 'twilight of the reason,' on 'the borderland between experience and illusion." Howells's geographical metaphor was derived, of course, from Hawthorne's idea of a moonlit 'neutral territory, somewhere between the real world and fairy-land, where the Actual and the Imaginary may meet, and each imbue itself with the nature of the other.' Whether literally, as in Cooper's The Spy, or metaphorically, as in Hawthorne's works, the neutral territory/borderland was the familiar setting of the American romance. As American writers came to realize, not only was there a borderland between East and West, civilization and wilderness, but also between the here and the hereafter, between conscious and unconscious, 'experience and illusion' - psychic frontiers on the edge of territories both enticing and terrifying.

We all have that inner fear of the dark, no matter how old we get. It's an ingrained instinct to fear the velvety blackness of the night, of things you can't quite see, but know deep down in your bones is there, waiting.

We are a short time here and along time gone. Live!

We are born. We die. Somewhere in between we live. And how we live is up to us. That’s it.

We are monsters with good intentions, our instincts drive us but our passions devour us

We can only do so much. We’re only human.

We can't crush evil with morals. We are justice. We are morality.

We deal with so many nightmares on a regular basis. When I’m watching a horror movie, there’s a pattern, a sense of control in them. I’m just an observer, not having to deal with any of the repercussions. It’s a nice dream to think monsters play by the rules, that they’ve got a pattern you can unlock and follow. Real life’s messy, and the chaos leaves you devastated in the wake.

We did a Tarot card reading. She told me different things, most of them depressing and worth forgetting. But what I'll always remember is her prediction of my death, and how I'd become a kind of ghost, ‘wandering’ she said, with a ‘spiritual restlessness’.

We don’t live in a rational world, Ethan. It’s an irrational world under a thin veneer of logic - just enough to throw us off.

We have adorned the lower heaven with an adornment, the star- They cannot listen to the exalted assembly and they are reproached from every side.

We had a major incident last night, one that could change the future of New York City forever.

We go straight". I say again. "If we start making turns, we might not know what direction is what. If we keep going straight, at least we know how to get back to where we came from if we get into trouble. I know it's tiring, but walking uphill is a good thing-every step we take is a step closer to getting out." "I see shoulders droop, I hear heavy sighs. They don't want to agree with me; they want to go the easier way".

Weigh thou therefore their wickedness now in the balance, and theirs also that dwell the world; and so shall thy name no where be found anymore.

We have our own personal demons to deal with.

We know—more from the faces immortalized on a handful of photographs than from the words of survivors—that the women and men who experienced that moment in Hiroshima believed they had encountered the beginning of the end of the world. There will never be enough future to prove them wrong.

Welcome, let’s all prepare to be whisked to the magical land of candy. Be warned, candy is very addicting and at Jubilee’s the candy is the tastiest in the world,

Welcome to the house of Gray and Graves where we never lie still and death is only the beginning ...

We lie to protect our children, and in lying we expose them to the greatest of harms

Well did you call the hypothetical hardware store and buy a theoretical chainsaw?-- Pam to Jessica, True Blood

We'll eat your steam and lap up your blood. But first, we'll drink your screams

We may think of ourselves as static anti-heroes, but in reality we're dynamic protagonists just waiting for our courage to kick in.

Well, yeah, you listen to a talking snake and there's gonna be trouble.

Well, time works differently down here, boss. Sometimes I feel like I've lived a thousand lifetimes ... it's funny. The pain is constant. Sometimes it's so much that I can't stand it. I bite at myself, tear my skin off, but I can never quite die. Like I said, funny. But to hurt is to love, right?

We might have thought that the horrors of World War II and the Holocaust were enough to innoculate us against the toxins there revealed and unleashed. But our resistance quickly fades. A new generation gladly abandons its critical and skeptical faculties.

We need to beat this, Grant. These people count on us to keep them safe.

We're all hunters in my family, you know. Deer, ducks…damsels.

Wenn man meine Seele zeichnen könnte, wäre es irgendein wildes Gekritzel mit deutlich sichtbaren Reißzähnen.

We pass away out of the world as grasshoppers, and our life is astonishment and fear, and we are not worthy to obtain mercy.

We're in high school. If it didn't come from the school cafeteria, we like it.

We're going to isolated woods to contact aliens. What could go wrong?

We're nothing. We're dust.

We're supposed to love flowers, yet we rip them from their homes, and give them to people who don't love us." -Toril Withers (Dark Winter).

We're going to have such fun, you and I.

We're both drowning in our rotten shells. I look to you for comfort, but your hand is already pushing my head down.

We tossed away the horror formula right from the beginning.

WEST SALEM ~ October 2011 A sudden vision, fraught with malevolence and darkness, obscured her sight. The face of a menacing figure turned from the shadows of his grisly handiwork and stared at Sorcha. Her muscles tensed. By the Goddess, could he see her? Please! No! She wanted to scream, to run, but the vision ensnared her into the horrific moment like a fly in a spider's web.

We stopped looking in the shadows, when we realised that WE were the monsters that we are afraid of. I want to take these monsters, give them a voice and put them back under our beds, in our closets and in the shadows, back where we are most afraid of them.

We were ready for crazy, but not that kind of crazy.

We were sitting at the bar on the ninth floor. No alcohol served after dark––and it was always after dark. I watched two men stumble across the dance floor, arms entwined, faces slack with boredom. The pianist plowed through a joylessly jaunty tune, the musical equivalent of a man dancing at gunpoint. My drinking companion grinned.

We were going to save the world, because no one ever saved us.

What are you going to fill it with?" she asks. "Holy water or something?" "Probably Dasani," Thomas replies.

What if all religions were stories, and all stories were true.

What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night!

What if all religiouns were stories, and all stories were true?

What do you think of Poe?" "He's awful. He was obviously . . . what's the term . . . 'disappointed in love' at some point. He probably never smiled again. The pages are just bursting with his longing for women to suffer. If he ever met me he'd probably punch me on the nose." "I think Poe's quite good, actually. The whole casual horror thing. Like someone standing next to you and screaming their head off and you asking them what the fuck and them stopping for a moment to say 'Oh you know, I'm just afraid of Death' and then they keep on with the screaming.