Best 2148 quotes in «horror quotes» category

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.

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

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.

‘Eighth one this week,’ he said.

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

Everyone has a monster inside

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

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

Evet anne." Ağzı kupkuruydu,ama kendine dudaklarını yalama izni vermeyecekti.Onun yerine sıkıca birbirine bastırdı.Babamın çalışma odasında kırmızı elbiseli küçük bir kız var ve kahkahalar atarak bir kenarına mengene monte edilmiş masanın altında saklanmış ve sıyrılmış dizlerini göğsüne çekip,sırtını bin çekmeceli büyük dolaba yaslamış halde oturarak daima orada olacak.Çok mutlu bir kız.Ama annemin salonunda çişini köpek gibi tutmayı beceremeyen çok daha küçük bir kız var.Küçük,kötü bir köpek yavrusu gibi.Ve ben aksini ne kadar dilesem de o daima salonda kalacak.

Evil should not be, Detective Vera. Truly never can be. But in defining it as such, an inherent human bond with negativity confirms its very existence. Its mere acknowledgement cancels its credibility. Evil is nothing—the lack of anything of substance— made concrete as a balance to everything else. Evil is not, yet it is a part of each human, because humans welcome its participation in their lives. They speak of it in anger or disgust, fear or even wonder— the most appropriate response— giving it a stronger foundation with every passing thought it distorts. Though within their pliable minds, they welcome it with the glee of the ignorant, nurturing the unthinkable, thinking the unimaginable, imagining the most horrid, abysmal designs, embellishing them with an insidious veracity until evil is as substantial a reality as their next breath. I strive for something else, beyond evil’s claustrophobic clutches. I strive to transcend evil by becoming pure nothing. I strive as my followers strived.” He paused, his ideology a cancer, spreading… “I am, yet I strive to not be. Do you understand, comrade?” His tone suggested fellowship, disciples of the same obscene religion. ...

Evil is nothing more than that, which was once divine, and has fallen into shit." Indrid Night - Through A Glass Darkly.

Everything we know of horror and dread is connected primarily with war. Stalin's Gulags and Auschwitz were recent gains for evil. History has always been the story of wars and military commanders, and war was, we could say, the yardstick of horror. This is why people muddle the concepts of war and disaster. In Chernobyl, we see all the hallmarks of war: hordes of soldiers, evacuation, abandoned houses. The course of life disrupted. Reports on Chernobyl in the newspapers are thick with the language of war: 'nuclear', 'explosion', 'heroes'. And this makes it harder to appreciate that we now find ourselves on a new page of history. The history of disasters has begun. But people do not want to reflect on that, because they have never thought about it before, preferring to take refuge in the familiar. And in the past. Even the monuments to the Chernobyl heroes look like war memorials.

Eve wasn't sure what right the clown had to butcher the poor girl like that. In fact, most horror movies made her angry. Though the 'final girl' usually got out alive, she was stripped of so much by the time the credits rolled.

Evil knows its time to end is soon at hand, hence why it is more than determined to succeed.

Fantastic literature has been especially prominent in times of unrest, when the older values have been overthrown to make way for the new; it has often accompanied or predicted change, and served to shake up rational Complacency, challenging reason and reminding man of his darker nature. Its popularity has had its ups and downs, and it has always been the preserve of a small literary minority. As a natural challenger of classical values, it is rarely part of a culture's literary mainstream, expressing the spirit of the age; but it is an important dissenting voice, a reminder of the vast mysteries of existence, sometimes truly metaphysical in scope, but more often merely riddling.

Famine was a dirty bitch with rotten fangs, but the hunger she put in a belly bit sharp nonetheless.

Fear is the short road to death and this world, Changed by the flux of decay: Survival is the exception for weary men. From the new book The Waning

Fear thou not; for I am with thee; be not dismayed; for I am thy...! I will strengthen thee; yea; I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness; Behold, all they that were incensed against thee shall be confounded; they shall be as nothing; and they that strive with thee shall perish...

Fear blossomed within her - not like a flower, but like blood welling from a gunshot wound, spreading throughout her entire body.

Fear is a question, really. What are you afraid of, and why? There's a history to every horror. Fear is a training master whom you run from or you face. Defining your backstory is the prelude to the story. That's how you solve fear. You rewrite it.

Fear is quite the anaesthetic

Fear of night. Fear of not night.

Fetch him breakfast. Fetch him coffee. Fetch his sheets for his bed. Fetch him lunch. Fetch his drink. Fetch the ax to cut his head. Fetch him dinner. Fetch him tea. Fetch the mop but watch him bleed.