Best 2148 quotes in «horror quotes» category

That’s just it. Don’t you get it, Sarge? They’re not people anymore. They’re freaking zombies! Just like in the movies.

That one smooth black eye stared, and reflected in it I fancied I could see the cyclopeon city, and the endless column of the marching dead.

That's how stories are born - mysterious noises, creaks on the stairs, bumps in the night, and tricks of the light.

That's scary, all the time to be afraid Wreck 2015 (Film, you should check it out).

That sure as fuck ain't no cow

That's what I fear: being subtracted from myself. Negation. Forced against my will to become a beast.

That this world is a place of horror must affect every serious artist and thinker, darkening his reflection, ruining his system, sometimes actually driving him mad. Any seriousness avoids this fact at its peril, and the great ones who have seemed to neglect it have only done so in appearance.

That was another friend lost because of the virus. He wondered when it would end, if ever. He had a feeling there would be a lot more deaths to follow in the near future.

The actor passed him his cigarette case. "No, you must tell us all about it. One should always be reminded of the fact that even in this best of worlds the blood still flows freely." "The Dead Jew

The adjuration to be "normal" seems shockingly repellent to me; I see neither hope nor comfort in sinking to that low level. I think it is ignorance that makes people think of abnormality only with horror and allows them to remain undismayed at the proximity of "normal" to average and mediocre. For surely anyone who achieves anything is, a priori, abnormal.

The afterlife can be an adventure if one can supersede the gloom and sidestep the pitfalls.

The air changes. Then that invisible spider crawls up my spine, tickling the hairs behind my neck. I have come to know this spider these last couple of years. It whispers there’s something else in the room, breathing with you, watching you, grinning at you. I hate that damn spider.

The American id could not be educated, Spinks thought. It needed horror in order to stay awake and to justify its most pleasureful pursuit, the destruction of helpless people who had never done anything wrong.

The air down here doesn't smell of sugar and coffee. It smells damp, rotten.

The arms, legs, and torso with head were dragged away in sections as the children were captivated by the drama, zealously chewing their candies with sticky teeth.

The bacteria in the virus are probably searching for new hosts to carry them, so they can feed on fresh meat.

The baby wasn't supposed to remind her of an internal mass of pooling waste.

The best horror novels open up, "It was beautiful summer day and the smell of flowers emanated throughout the air.

The best place to conceal esoteric information is right in front of us.

The best of me is when I allow you to witness my dumbness, or let you to listen to my manly voice cry . Now that's the best of me, trust me its is.

The blessings of the devil is the beginning of dread.

The book the snowman was the best book I have ever read it had suspence durring the whole book it was AWSOME!!!

The book is that is the good one is Woodsong and we are trying to finish it.

The brain had its own food on which it battened, and the imagination, made grotesque by terror, twisted and distorted as a living thing by pain, danced like some foul puppet on a stand and grinned through moving masks.

The cabin in the woods is to the American Gothic what the haunted castle is to the European - the seed from which everything else ultimately grows.

The car drives through, stops while the man closes and fastens the prickly gate behind it. The bell shuts off; the stillness is deafening by contrast. The car goes on until the outline of a house suddenly uptilts the searching headlight-beams, log-built, sprawling, resembling a hunting-lodge. But there's no friendliness to it. There is something ominous and forbidding about its look, so dark, so forgotten, so secretive-looking. The kind of a house that has a maw to swallow with - a one-way house, that you feel will never disgorge any living thing that enters it. Leprous in the moonlight festering on its roof. And the two round sworls of light played by the heads of the car against its side, intersecting, form a pear-shaped oval that resembles a gleaming skull. ("Jane Brown's Body")

The chandelier was wearing on its rubber support and the crack at the side of the ceiling hold was getting bigger. “One day that’s going to fall on us and spear you through the heart,” he said. I turned to kiss him on the shoulder and closed my eyes.

The century's getting old and stale; it needs new tribes.

The clear stars before him took to shuddering and he knew why; they shuddered at sight of what was behind him. He had never divined before that strange Things hid themselves from men, under pretence of being snow-clad mounds of swaying trees; but now they came slipping out from their harmless covers to follow him, and mock at his impotence to make a kindred Thing resolve to truer form. He knew the air behind him was thronged; he heard the hum of innumerable murmurings together; but his eyes could never catch them - they were too swift and nimble; but he knew they were there, because, on a backward glance, he saw the snow mounds surge as they grovelled flatlings out of sight; he saw the trees reel as they screwed themselves rigid past recognition among the boughs.

The city had grown, implacably, spreading its concrete and alloy fingers wider every day over the dark and feral country. Nothing could stop it. Mountains were stamped flat. Rivers were dammed off or drained or put elsewhere. The marshes were filled. The animals shot from the trees and then the trees cut down. And the big gray machines moved forward, gobbling up the jungle with their iron teeth, chewing it clean of its life and all its living things. Until it was no more. Leveled, smoothed as a highway is smoothed, its centuries choked beneath millions and millions of tons of hardened stone. The birth of a city... It had become the death of a world.

The cold feel of the leather... Peeking at the world from my other eye... It was strangely exciting...

The concept that man is not awake, and that only a fully conscious being can "do", have will and not be subject to the law of accident.

The crying wailed, somewhere beneath the planks. Several sweeps of the light showed that the cellar was otherwise deserted. Though the face mouthed behind him, he ventured down. For God’s sake, get it over with; he knew he would never dare return.

The crowd bit and scratched anyone they came into contact with, but mostly they grabbed and ate people. It was like a scene from a horror movie. People were running for their lives in every direction. It was every man and woman for himself or herself. No one helped anyone. About a minute later, there was no safe direction to go because those monsters were everywhere.

The corridor didn't seem long enough to contain so much blackness. 'Passing Through Peacehaven

The creature may not haste above the maker; neither may the world hold them at once that shall be created therein.

The day had begun like any other ordinary day for Barnabas Crackle. That is to say, as extra-ordinarily as his days typically began, which were the usual for our faithful protagonist.

The dead pull the living down.

The dead have highways." Clive Barker

The deal is this. You be the hero. Come down here. Unarmed. Come inside with your hands on your head. I'll let everybody go. Then I'll blow your fucking head off. Sir. How's that for a deal? You buy it?

The day we forget the horror, Sam, we will repeat it. Never forget your past. It will make you less human, less than human.

The dead are jealous, jealous, jealous and they will do anything to keep you from the living, the lucky living. They will argue with you, and distract you, and if that doesn't work, they will even let you hug them, and dance for you, and kiss you, and laugh, anything to keep you. The dead are selfish. Jealous. Lonely. Desperate. Hungry. ("The Chambered Fruit")

The dead have existed for as long as the living, give or take a few years. But what good has that done them?

The desperate piercing scream of horror echoed far above the sharpened tops of the trees wrapped in thin obsidian-transparent mist, and I startled jerkily, tripping again, and almost collapsed onto the cold moist ground.

The demon needs permission to stay?” Kyle asked, a bit amused now. “Of course. You need to give it permission to come into your home otherwise the game can’t start. The demon cannot come in without permission,” she repeated, emphasising on the last part. “For a demon that probably wants to rip my head off, it’s kinda polite,” Kyle grinned, grabbing her hands.

The Den, the best horror - You never know who is the Original!

The Devil always takes back his own.

The diamonds glinted under the glare of the chandelier and they looked like a thousand spider eyes

The difficulty with Poe is not figuring out which of his stories rise to the level required of this collection, but rather which of his stories to exclude from it.

The Devil's minions worked his treacherous plot through the hearts of men, possessing them, ruling them. These hounds of hell ran wild these days through their human hosts, working greater and greater abominations.