Best 2148 quotes in «horror quotes» category

I was a spectator who had gotten free admission to a freak show.

I was a struggling single mom when my novel, The Forlorned, became a motion picture. I thought my life had turned around for the better until a convicted child molester sued me for trademark infringement over the word FORLORNED. Finally, after three long years of legal proceedings, the US Supreme Court sided with me. Always stand up and fight for what is right. Never give in—never give up!

I was crying for the little girl I had been, who had withstood terrifying nightmares of death and blood and war and maiming. And when I had tried to share those horrors, the shock on my friends' faces had told me I was not normal, and I should keep my dreams to myself.

I was going to make the little hound here part of your display, but you know, against all odds, I’ve found myself growing to like the little guy! You were going to be a girl transforming into a werewolf, but now I think you’ll be part of my Hansel & Gretel display. I needed a trespassing little snoop!

I was somewhere between angry and turned-on.

I was still asleep; distracted in my idyll with death. She wouldn’t let me go… my lover… my accomplice into nothingness. The Night… who was the lover of the darkness, lover of the nothingness, lover of the death, lover of mine! Meanwhile the eternity, my other lover, was waiting for me in the end…

I went for the door and opened it, not wanting to see how much this corpse was willing to destroy to get into my bedroom. His body probably would’ve crumbled to pieces before he got in, and I had no clue how to get dead guy out of the carpet.

I went into a forest into a plain, and the trees took counsel- And said, Come, let us go and make war against the sea that it may depart away before us, and that we may make us more woods. The floods of the sea also in like manner took counsel, and said, Come, let us go up and subdue the woods of the plain, that there also we may make us another country. The thought of the wood was in vain, for the fire came and consumed it. The thought of the floods of the sea came likewise to nought, for the sand stood up and stopped them. If thou wart judge now betwixt these two, whom would thou begin to justify? or whom would thou condemn?

I will come,' the priest answered, 'for I have read in old books of these strange beings which are neither quick nor dead, and which lie ever fresh in their graves, stealing out in the dusk to taste life and blood.

I will liken my judgment unto a ring: like as there is no slackness of the last, even so there is no swiftness of the first.

I will not be a victim. I will not think like a victim. I am going to avenge all those little girls. I am going to win.

I will not die on Totem Lake.

I wish I could help him. I wish I could help the dozens of other Sufferers - all the victims of wounds, maulings, burns, diseases, incipient malnutrition, and melancholic despair - aboard this entrapped ship and her sister ship. I wish I could help myself, for already I am showing the early signs of Nostalgia and Debility. But there is little that I - or any surgeon in the Year of Our Lord 1848 - can do. God help us all.

I wish this knife was good for something besides death, that I could cut through time and walk into that house, into that kitchen where he trapped her, and get her out of there. I would make sure she had the future she should have had.

I Wish This To Never End.

I wonder how much- or how little- they remember. I am somehow convinced that they don't remember any of it, because they don't need to remember. I'm the only one that hears the voice of the Turtle, the only one who remembers, because I'm the only one who stayed here in Derry. And because they're scattered to the four winds, they have no way of knowing the identical patterns their lives have taken. To bring them back, to show them that pattern....yes, it might kill some of them. It might kill all of them.

Listen, listen with your eyes, and your lips. Listen with your skin, and your blood. Can you hear us, at the edges?

Little Red Riding Hood was stalked; Cinderella was abused; the Beauty had to live with a hideous Beast; Snow White was poisoned; Hansel and Gretel were meat for a cannibal… and then we wonder why our kids grow up with problems.

Living in Hell kept him aware of the possibility of Heaven, and he’d never felt more alive.

Lo!" cried the demon. "I am here! What dost thou seek of me? Why dost thou disturb my repose? Smite me no more with that dread rod!" He looked at Cabal. "Where's your dread rod?" "I left it at home," replied Cabal. "Didn't think I really needed it." "You can't summon me without a dread rod!" said Lucifuge, appalled. "You're here, aren't you?" "Well, yes, but under false pretences. You haven't got a goatskin or two vervain crowns or two candles of virgin wax made by a virgin girl and duly blessed. Have you got the stone called Ematille?" "I don't even know what Ematille is." Neither did the demon. He dropped the subject and moved on. "Four nails from the coffin of a dead child?" "Don't be fatuous." "Half a bottle of brandy?" "I don't drink brandy." "It's not for you." "I have a hip flask," said Cabal, and threw it to him. The demon caught it and took a dram. "Cheers," said Lucifuge, and threw it back. They regarded each other for a long moment. "This really is a shambles," the demon added finally. "What did you summon me for, anyway?

Logically, it doesn’t make sense for people to make stories of things that go bump in the night during a full moon.” He paused for a moment, then added one final comment. “No, Megan… it’s during a new moon that the night is darkest. It’s during a new moon… that the real monsters come out.

Longche willed himself to change into his true vampire form. As the helpless vampire watched the transformation, it started screaming. It was still screaming when Longche's rows of razor-sharp teeth sank into its throat. It had been thousands of years since he had drunk the blood of vampires. With each creature he consumed, he could feel himself growing stronger. Growing stronger - and growing closer to the Dark Mother, who was waiting to exact a terrible revenge upon him.

Look, look close, look closely. How many dollies do you see?

Los psicóticos, mecidos en la cuna venenosa de su propio ego, quieren hacer el favor a todos los que les rodean de llevárselos con ellos.

Lydia shrugged. "At least we'll have some stories to tell after graduation." "These aren't the kind of stories I want to tell.

Lo tocó como nunca antes se había atrevido a hacerlo, acariciando su cuerpo con la punta de los dedos muy, muy suavemente, recorriendo la piel levantada como una mujer ciega leyendo braille.

Love, really? We're vampires, not teenagers. Lust is for the weak.

Lydia displays her right hand and instantly bathed the room with a blinding light. It lasted only a moment before it drew back into her palm. “I can fix you if you’re ever broken.

Mack woke up on a hard bunk, stone walls and iron bars so close they felt like they were closing in on him.

Mademoiselle De Lafontaine – in right of her father, who was a German, assumed to be psychological, metaphysical and something of a mystic – now declared that when the moon shone with a light so intense it was well known that it indicated a special spiritual activity. The effect of the full moon in such a state of brilliancy was manifold. It acted on dreams, it acted on lunacy, it acted on nervous people; it had marvelous physical influences connected with life. Mademoiselle related that here cousin, who was mate of a merchant ship, having taken a nap on deck on such a night, lying on his back, with his face full in the light of the moon, had wakened, after a dream of an old woman clawing him by the cheek, with his features horribly drawn to one side; and his countenance had never quite recovered its equilibrium.

Madness is in the mind of the beholder.

Los sauces son el símbolo de la amargura y del desamor. Y cada una de estas casas tiene uno de esos árboles. Una amargura que callar, un desamor que llorar… ¿O es que quizá solo los han heredado…?”.

Love is always worth the risks, even when, especially when, it scares you.

Love is an exorcism of angels.

Lumikki didn't bother saying that she was more likely to get bored being around other people, listening to their pointless small talk. Better off alone than in bad company. When she was alone, she could be completely herself. Free. No one demanding anything. No one talking when she wanted silence.

Luna had never been good at coping with death. After all she had gone through, she knew she should’ve been trained. But she wasn’t. She was regrettably human.

Magic is a naughty beast.

Magic is horror. Horror is magic.

Maloney looked around my room and nodded like he approved of the extravagance surrounding him: the inch-thick carpet with its diamond designs, the half moon flock of the wallpaper, and the antique furniture, polished to a museum quality shine. The two goons he brought with him flanked the door, equally impressed, I could tell by their dropped jaws and roving, wanton eyes. One of them set a briefcase on the floor beside him. Finally Maloney’s eyes found me, and his expression turned from amazement to shock. “I didn’t expect you to be--” “A Vampire?” I asked, feeling the touch of a smile form on my lips.

Many of my readers are women and some of them email me their thoughts about the stories I’ve written. Almost all of them find a delicious pleasure in being totally frightened by the strange and dark side of life. Perhaps it’s because horror books are an escape from our sometimes-mundane lives? Or could it be that many of us actually do have a private darker side that we like to explore secretly through books, movies and music?

¡ Maldito sea el día en que recibí la vida! -exclamé con agonía-. ¡Maldito mi creador! ¿ Por qué fabricaste un monstruo tan espantoso que incluso tú mismo te apartaste horrorizado de mí? Dios, en su misericordia hizo al hombre hermoso y atractivo, a su propia imagen; en cambio, mi figura era una mezcla inmunda, una parodia de la tuya, más espantosa aún por su parecido. Satanás tuvo a sus compañeros, a sus demonios seguidores, que le admiraban y alentaban; pero yo me encuentro solo y soy abominado.

Man is an indolent creature, but light the fire of fear under him, and of what miracles is he not capable.

Many of the best fantastic stories begin in a leisurely way, set in commonplace surroundings, with exact, meticulous descriptions of an ordinary background, much as in a 'realistic' tale. Then a gradual - or it may be sometimes a shockingly abrupt - change becomes apparent, and the reader begins to realize that what is being described is alien to the world he is accustomed to, that something strange has crept or leapt into it. This strangeness changes the world permanently and fundamentally.

Many veterans feel guilty because they lived while others died. Some feel ashamed because they didn’t bring all their men home and wonder what they could have done differently to save them. When they get home they wonder if there’s something wrong with them because they find war repugnant but also thrilling. They hate it and miss it.Many of their self-judgments go to extremes. A comrade died because he stepped on an improvised explosive device and his commander feels unrelenting guilt because he didn’t go down a different street. Insurgents used women and children as shields, and soldiers and Marines feel a totalistic black stain on themselves because of an innocent child’s face, killed in the firefight. The self-condemnation can be crippling. The Moral Injury, New York Times. Feb 17, 2015

Mark nodded even though she couldn't see. He'd suddenly lost any desire to talk, and his plans for a perfect day washed away with the stream. The memories. They never let him go, not even for a half hour. They always had to rush back in, bringing all the horror.

Matthew licked the fright induced sweat from his victim’s temple then bit a quarter sized piece of flesh from her right cheek as she flayed wildly under him.

Max?' he asked. 'Yeah?' '...What are you doing?' 'Shooting people.

Maybe I'll really try to kiss her, even if I fall through her like a raindrop.

Maybe some good things have to end, so new good things can happen.

Maybe that's why the best laughs tend to break free on the edge of lightless horror. Only then can they gives wings to a drooping spirit.