Best 2148 quotes in «horror quotes» category

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 get all gothic and emo on me now. - Tory

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

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 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 know how to hide a dead body?

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.

DO YOU 'PREY' WITH THEM (?)

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?

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.

Drive. He’s already dead.

Dude, don’t die out here.

Duty over fear.

Ebola then turns the insides of its host into jelly: you begin to vomit black junk which is basically your dissolved liver and internal organs.

Either way, it happened, and everyone was going to pretend that it didn't.

Eche, eche, AB32, CD54, EF76, Amanda thought as she kissed Steven. At any moment, she would either kill or transform him.

Either the gates of hell had opened, or Tom had lost his mind; for there could be nothing like this entity outside the precincts of the damned, except in the fevered fantasies of a raving paranoid psychopath

‘Eighth one this week,’ he said.

El monstruo me abrazaba con tal fuerza que no sabía dónde acababa yo y donde empezaba el, aunque yo seguía allí, en algún lugar.

Eli snorted, her eyes narrowed. — Because I am like you. — What do you mean like me? I.. Eli thrust her hand through the air as if she was holding a knife, said: — What are you looking at, idiot? Want to die, or something? — Stabbed the air with empty hand. — That what happens if you look at me. Oskar rubbed his lips together, dampening them. — What are you saying? — It's not me that's saying it. It's you. That was the first thing I heard you say. Down on the playground. Oskar remembered. The tree. The knife. How he had held up the blade of the knife like a mirror, seen Eli for the first time.

Emily, there are enemies everywhere. We have to be on our guard, especially for the next couple of weeks.’ Theo sighed unhappily. ‘This is going to be the longest fortnight of my life.’ ‘That’s saying something,’ I joked, ‘given how long you’ve lived.’ ‘Exactly,’ he said, without smiling.

Envy said, “Girl, I remember well, ye, who I flung from Hell, and not a day has passed, I haven’t missed the loss of your soul that I mourned, I’ve been bereft and forlorn, for the sweet taste of your flesh I’ve yet to kiss. But no worries—bygones, that’s the past—long gone, I don’t hold a grudge, no, in no way. And though your family they did swindle my joy of flaying ye on a spindle, I begrudge ye not a little, so let’s play. So, merely toss your token in my well, and all your dreams I will unveil, for ye alone, them I’ll grant. Come closer, little Penny, your hands I know are not empty, ye have something I dreadfully want.

Es hora de que se haga la oscuridad.

Especially on rainy nights like this, they would congregate under the bridge, all the boys from nowhere, the boys who lived nowhere, who had nowhere else to go.

Escrever é um ato solitário. Quando dois escritores se juntam para escrever uma história de terror pode ser uma loucura. Não se pode pisar numa mina e esperar que ela não exploda

E quasi per sbaglio Eddie scoprì una delle grandi verità della sua infanzia: i veri mostri sono gli adulti.

Eram mariposas sedentas por sangue, mas podiam se passar por borboletas coloridas quando desejavam

Envy and respect are not the same things... Before I endow you with respect, I should find out whether your curiosity is intellectual or merely morbid. Not that those who gawk at train derailments are so different from those who conduct autopsies; both want, at some level, to know what has happened, and, by extension, what will happen. Did the liver fail because of the decedent's alcoholism or was some toxin administered? If the deliverer is found, he or she may be imprisoned or, in more honest times, hanged, and thus pose no further threat. Or for the gawker at the accident, espying loose parts not unlike his or her own parts strewn amid wreckage may lead to a sense of awe at death's power, or horror at life's fragility, either of which may be instructive in any number of ways.

Eu gargalhei até espantar o horror para fora de mim.

Even if I had convict ancestry, I wouldn’t be ashamed of it. As far as I’m concerned, the real criminals back in those days weren’t twelve-year-old boys nicking a loaf of bread or a pair of socks to ward off hunger and blisters. No, it was those who exploited them; keeping the battler in the gutter while they sat around in their manors, sipping tea and admiring portraits of their toffee-nosed great grandfathers.

Even if it's a life in shackles, if you have somebody who accepts you for what you really are, how reassuring would that be?

Even in death, may you be triumphant

Evan had heard it all before. A paradise underground, made for things like the worm in front of him. A place where Evan would forget he had ever been human, forget he had a mother, maybe even forget his own name. This thing did not remember its own, Evan was sure of it.

Even now I can’t describe the fear that contaminated my blood like black ink.

Even then I found the word fitting, soothing. Fireflies. Fire flies. Fire, fly.

Even so have I given the womb of the earth to those that be sown in it in their times.

Even though it’s pleasing to boast about achievements I have earned in my generation, nothing makes me more content in the world than just having the exciting opportunity to share my passion of work with the public. What is even more exhilarating, is being able (having the capability) to spend quality time with my loving wife, (Gloria) and family doing what I love most in the world -- writing. Their total well-being and health, along with my health too means everything to me. I have had my fair share of narrow escapes in my life to know how important my family, and health are to me. I will never take that for granted again – ever.

Ever since I arrived to a state of manhood, I have felt a sincere passion for liberty. The history of nations doomed to perpetual slavery, in consequence of yielding up to tyrants their natural born liberties, I read with a sort of philosophical horror; so that the first systematical and bloody attempt at Lexington, to enslave America, thoroughly electrified my mind, and fully determined me to take part with my country.

Ever Since I Can Remember, I Have Always Been a Huge Advocate for Women and Children.

Everything is worse...if you think something is looking at you.

Every danger loses some of its terror once its causes are understood.

Everyone has a monster inside

Everything not saved will be lost. –Nintendo “Quit Screen” message

Everyone knows a Wixen when we smell one. You smell the prettiest, a mixture of strawberries, sex and deceit. Dior should bottle it.