Best 2148 quotes in «horror quotes» category

Whether or not Saddam is implicated directly in the anthrax attacks or the horrors of September 11, he is, by any common definition, a terrorist who must be removed.

While vegans and meat-eaters disagree, we can all be united in our fear and hatred for the horror that is factory farming.

White... is death. It's hospitals. It's my terrible nurses. White is absolute horror. It is just the worst.

Who has that absolute trust, to fling yourself into mortality, to let it do with you as it will, with all the permutations and possibilities of as it will, be it horror or ecstasy or boredom?

With a horror movie, you want to know where the engine of the fear is coming from. Like in comedy, you want to know what the engine that's going to make the comedy - where that's coming from.

With a horror movie, you're making a metaphor. You're making a personalized nightmare for the protagonist.

With all our horrors and faults, somewhere in us there is a shining.

Without context, things are not scary. Without context, like humor, horror doesn't work.

Without music in a horror there is actually such a big part missing.

Without psychology, the horror film doesn't exist.

Working in magazines these days is like one of those horror movies where people keep leaving the room and not coming back.

You have to take the horror seriously but there's gags aplenty. Most people, when they do horror it's just grim.

You are horror and beauty in rare combination.

You're going through the horror of it, you're going through the isolation of it but you're being empowered by reminding yourself that you're connected to everybody else.

You know, in the horror movie you kill the monster, and the hand re-emerges. And if you're not looking, the hand grows back and then the monster's there again. That cannot be allowed to happen.

Young adults that actually read are reading bodice rippers and best-sellers and me. And Horror.

A bloody guy in overalls, wearing a straw hat, began chasing us. He held a saw, pointing it at us. We were gonna die! --The Body By the Tree

A Call For The Overthrow Of The World Government!

About the only law that I think relates to the genre is that you should not try to explain, to find neat explanations for what happens, and that the object of the thing is to produce a sense of the uncanny. Freud in his essay on the uncanny wrote that the sense of the uncanny is the only emotion which is more powerfully expressed in art than in life, which I found very illuminating; it didn’t help writing the screen-play, but I think it’s an interesting insight into the genre. And I read an essay by the great master H.P. Lovecraft where he said that you should never attempt to explain what happens, as long as what happens stimulates people’s imagination, their sense of the uncanny, their sense of anxiety and fear. And as long as it doesn’t, within itself, have any obvious inner contradictions, it is just a matter of, as it were, building on the imagination (imaginary ideas, surprises, etc.), working in this area of feeling. I think also that the ingeniousness of a story like this is something which the audience ultimately enjoys; they obviously wonder as the story goes on what’s going to happen, and there’s a great satisfaction when it’s all over not having been able to have anticipated the major development of the story, and yet at the end not to feel that you have been fooled or swindled.

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

Adults are always like that, They only see what they want to see, As such, I am disapointed in them, but... That's convenient for me. - Fujisawa Ayana

Adakah yang lebih mengerikan dari setan yang berkata benar? -Si Manis dan Lelaki Ketujuh-

A crush of bodies surrounded the featureless monument. The enraged dead clambered atop their ghastly kin. Caiaphas tucked his knees to his chest and hugged his legs tightly, staring at the scores of ragged, flailing hands as they scratched for purchase over the edge of the cylinder. Metal thrummed and thunder roared, filling his head. Now there were words within the deafening roar. “Straaaange,” they seemed to say. “Daaaace…” “Straaaangerrrr…” Then a quick, awful chant: “CAIAPHAS! FOREVER! CAI—” And with a piercing whistle it ended as his eardrums burst.

A flat screen television lowered into view. It showed an animated Islamic documentary that focused mostly on the importance of wearing the proper attire. The final prophet was quoted often, yet absent from the feature. “If this Mohammed guy is so great, why wouldn’t they put him in the cartoon?” Kira wondered.

A figure held his daughter in the rocker. In the dim light he couldn’t make out the features, but the sight of anyone he didn’t know sitting in Wendy’s rocker with their daughter was enough to scare the shit out of him. Judging by the shuddering movements of his daughter’s body it had frightened her too, had caused her to mewl. He wanted to charge forward and reclaim his daughter, but he didn’t know what would happen if he acted so quickly. What would he do if it hurt her? What would he do if it killed her? “What-what do you want? I’ll do anything just don’t take my daughter. She’s…all I have left.” The figure stopped rocking and slowly eased its way to its feet. There’s not much light in the room but as it moved closer to the bed and it settled the baby in her crib, he saw just enough of her face in the moonlight. “Wendy?” His voice is as full of horror as it is with awe. He can’t help but be horrified at the sight of her now, the way that death has changed her, making her a terrible figure indeed. Her eyes are strange; some depth, some dark and terrible nothing has swallowed up all of her light, and in this first moment he swears he can feel the awful cold of that operating room coming off of her flesh. She is so small and so hard to look at, as if his mind can’t quite focus on her form. Through the bars of the crib he can see her anger and hear the terrible, alien sound of her hiss. “What do you want?” She doesn’t answer him, staring cold and blank through those stark white bars, and then she was scrambling toward him across the floor, making him press flat against the wall to get away from her skittering shape.

...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.

After All The.Purge.Election.Year.2016 wasn't a big deal, it could be better, I have watched and better movies.

After seven days of fasten so it was, that the thoughts of my heart were very grievous unto me- and my soul recovered the spirit of understanding.

After torturing our adrenaline by watching a horror movie for a couple of hours the places we are most afraid of are the doors and windows of the room even though they are the only ways for us to escape in case of occurrence such an event.

A kiss is such an amazing thing -- So simple, so complex. The only human act that gives while it receives. Mouth to mouth, it almost seems the eating of one another. Maybe that’s all we are, food for each other. Why, I believe there’s a poem in there somewhere. Another kiss to inspire my muse, Desirée, and I’ll tell you something else you don’t know.

A grey-suited figure with badly-scuffed shoes was squatted over a woman’s body, obscuring her face and upper torso. A loose, white dress; torn, now mostly red. A pattern of rose petals, drenched in blood. One of her sandals was missing, scarlet streaks and spatters on her jade-green polished toenails and pale, slender ankles. Another step took him around the hunched and twitching figure. It ignored him, intent on its work. Then its victim came fully into view … and he saw her ruined face.

Alex: "You asked earlier why us humans fear death. I suppose it is the unknown - not knowing what awaits on the other side. But now I know, and I still fear it." The Darkness: "?" Alex: "But now I fear the living - in fact, I now fear life more than death!

All in all, he thought it was a bad idea to get involved with the woman investigating his ex's possible suicide with intent to haunt.

All any of us can buy is time. Peter’s lifetime, his children’s lifetimes, maybe the lifetimes of my great-grandchildren. Until the year 2100, maybe, surely longer than that. Maybe not that long. Time enough for poor Mother Earth to recycle herself a little. A season of rest.

All I heard was the foulest sounding wheeze imaginable, cut off by a wet chittering noise and a horrid emphysemic breathing. Why my head turned slowest now, I still don’t know, but as I set my eyes on the monitor, I struggled to believe it. Where my daughter once was, all I could see now was a black, curved mass, shiny and contorted. One that seemed to sway from side to side, those horrible sounds emanating from it.

All’improvviso i loro sensi si fecero più attenti. Man mano che si addentravano nel quartiere, un formicolio sinistro li pizzicò alla base della nuca. Un presagio di morte, la puzza di marcio,l’olezzo del mondo infernale.

A lizard brain fired the gun that wounded you, but it was the combination of three brains that orchestrated the elaborate circumstances in which the trigger was pulled. Way back when, the Landlord believed a second brain would endow some of his lower life forms with the capacity for emotional connections. By adding the third brain, he probably planned on having his... higher forms empowered with the ability to not only think before acting, but to feel regret afterwards when their actions were wrong. But that’s not what happened, is it?

Allegations of multi-perpetrator and multi-victim sexual abuse emerged to public awareness in the early 1980s contemporaneously with the denials of the accused and their supporters. Multi-perpetrator sexual offences are typically more sadistic than solo offences and organised sexual abuse is no exception. Adults and children with histories of organised abuse have described lives marked by torturous and sometimes ritualistic sexual abuse arranged by family members and other care-givers and authority figures. It is widely acknowledged, at least in theory, that sexual abuse can take severe forms, but when disclosures of such abuse occur, they are routinely subject to contestation and challenge. People accused of organised, sadistic or ritualistic abuse have protested that their accusers are liars and fantasists, or else innocents led astray by overly zealous investigators. This was an argument that many journalists and academics have found more convincing than the testimony of alleged victims.

All existence is in vain: unexplained and sterile. I’ll end up alone with all my doubts that will haunt me forever, even after my death..." An excerpt from the book "The Master of the Realities

All she could see was her demise and it called out a tempting ruse, offering a suffering less potent than what sickened the living.

All of my chupacabra books are like novelizations of movies that haven’t been made yet.

All the cops were tied up trying to maintain control, but it was already lost.

Aloha Oukou. It looked like your soul was escaping so I put you in a tree.

All world believers of righteousness are required to pladge allegiance to Allah!

Alone, even in a crowd. Dead, but able to touch and sense the living. Real, but intangible.

All world believers of righteousness are required to pledge allegiance to Allah!

A long time ago, there was a little girl called Mary. Now Mary, she was warned several times not to go to her neighbor’s house. Her neighbor was a grandmother. But Mary hardly listened, so she snuck off one night to spy on her. She tried the front door first, and it creaked open. Then suddenly, she heard a squeaking noise upstairs. She followed it – climbed up the wooden stairs where half of it was already rotten. She heard the squeaking noise again. It was coming from the library. She opened the door and hid behind a couch. She peered out, and she saw the grandmother.” Dave paused to drain his cup of coffee before continuing. My heart thudded so loudly, I thought that everyone could hear it. “So Mary gasped in disbelief as she heard the squeaking noise again, and the grandmother’s rocking chair was not moving at all. Then the grandmother opened her eyes and looked directly at her, holding her gaze steadily and sharply, and then suddenly, BOO!

Also, in the dismal Cold Waste, any man treasures illusions, though knowing them almost certainly to be such.

Always just a brainstorm away from our next disaster...

Always Try And Be Kind To Other People - Especially Women And Children.