Best 2148 quotes in «horror quotes» category

Weigh thou therefore their wickedness now in the balance, and theirs also that dwell the world; and so shall thy name no where be found anymore.

We know—more from the faces immortalized on a handful of photographs than from the words of survivors—that the women and men who experienced that moment in Hiroshima believed they had encountered the beginning of the end of the world. There will never be enough future to prove them wrong.

Welcome to the house of Gray and Graves where we never lie still and death is only the beginning ...

Welcome, let’s all prepare to be whisked to the magical land of candy. Be warned, candy is very addicting and at Jubilee’s the candy is the tastiest in the world,

We lie to protect our children, and in lying we expose them to the greatest of harms

Well did you call the hypothetical hardware store and buy a theoretical chainsaw?-- Pam to Jessica, True Blood

We'll eat your steam and lap up your blood. But first, we'll drink your screams

Well, time works differently down here, boss. Sometimes I feel like I've lived a thousand lifetimes ... it's funny. The pain is constant. Sometimes it's so much that I can't stand it. I bite at myself, tear my skin off, but I can never quite die. Like I said, funny. But to hurt is to love, right?

Well, yeah, you listen to a talking snake and there's gonna be trouble.

We may think of ourselves as static anti-heroes, but in reality we're dynamic protagonists just waiting for our courage to kick in.

We might have thought that the horrors of World War II and the Holocaust were enough to innoculate us against the toxins there revealed and unleashed. But our resistance quickly fades. A new generation gladly abandons its critical and skeptical faculties.

We need to beat this, Grant. These people count on us to keep them safe.

Wenn man meine Seele zeichnen könnte, wäre es irgendein wildes Gekritzel mit deutlich sichtbaren Reißzähnen.

We pass away out of the world as grasshoppers, and our life is astonishment and fear, and we are not worthy to obtain mercy.

We're all hunters in my family, you know. Deer, ducks…damsels.

We're in high school. If it didn't come from the school cafeteria, we like it.

We're going to have such fun, you and I.

We're both drowning in our rotten shells. I look to you for comfort, but your hand is already pushing my head down.

We're going to isolated woods to contact aliens. What could go wrong?

We're nothing. We're dust.

We're supposed to love flowers, yet we rip them from their homes, and give them to people who don't love us." -Toril Withers (Dark Winter).

WEST SALEM ~ October 2011 A sudden vision, fraught with malevolence and darkness, obscured her sight. The face of a menacing figure turned from the shadows of his grisly handiwork and stared at Sorcha. Her muscles tensed. By the Goddess, could he see her? Please! No! She wanted to scream, to run, but the vision ensnared her into the horrific moment like a fly in a spider's web.

We stopped looking in the shadows, when we realised that WE were the monsters that we are afraid of. I want to take these monsters, give them a voice and put them back under our beds, in our closets and in the shadows, back where we are most afraid of them.

We tossed away the horror formula right from the beginning.

What are you going to fill it with?" she asks. "Holy water or something?" "Probably Dasani," Thomas replies.

We were ready for crazy, but not that kind of crazy.

We were sitting at the bar on the ninth floor. No alcohol served after dark––and it was always after dark. I watched two men stumble across the dance floor, arms entwined, faces slack with boredom. The pianist plowed through a joylessly jaunty tune, the musical equivalent of a man dancing at gunpoint. My drinking companion grinned.

We were going to save the world, because no one ever saved us.

What do you think of Poe?" "He's awful. He was obviously . . . what's the term . . . 'disappointed in love' at some point. He probably never smiled again. The pages are just bursting with his longing for women to suffer. If he ever met me he'd probably punch me on the nose." "I think Poe's quite good, actually. The whole casual horror thing. Like someone standing next to you and screaming their head off and you asking them what the fuck and them stopping for a moment to say 'Oh you know, I'm just afraid of Death' and then they keep on with the screaming.

Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain, and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime; that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling .... When danger or pain press too nearly, they are incapable of giving any delight, and [yet] with certain modifications, they may be, and they are delightful, as we every day experience.

What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night!

What if all religions were stories, and all stories were true.

What I learned in this tragedy was the eternal lesson of good people going bad.

What if all religiouns were stories, and all stories were true?

What is death but descending into a dark, eternal sleep?

What is a monster? Something that grows hair all over and howls? Could be. But the real monster is within, and when it comes out, it’s as fugly as you see it, or as it lets you see it.

What I saw there was my own death.

What is the point of our lives? There isn't any. I can't seem to decide how much horror and how much joy lies within that simple truth, but I know it is both of those things at once.

What man is able to do that, that thou should ask such things of me?

What's a jagoff?" Stich asked. "It's like a jerkoff, except it's you," Kat said.

What one thinks finds expression in words, and what one says, happens.

What’s behind the door or lurking at the top of the stairs is never as frightening as the door or the staircase itself.

What’s that supposed to mean, ‘a passin’ hunger?’ I ATE my fuckin’ girlfriend! An’ we ain’t talkin’ little fuckin’ love bites or a bit of a chew—I went wild kingdom on her ass! It was like a pig pickin’ after fuckin’ Lent-FUCK!

What's wrong with wanting to live...? We may be different but we were still given life. Given a chance. If we can only eat humans, then that's what we'll do. How else are we supposed to live with these bodies of ours?!

What's tragic isn't that we can't retaliate... What's truly tragic is... ...being consumed with vengeance and not being able to live your life.

What I will add as an perfect example of a man who is passionate of his work, without wife, everything giving, no information about his life like mother, father or something like this... I will give as an example NightClawer. People often understand under this name some kind a horror, but unfortunately it's about a reporter and it's not horror. I will call it passion!

What none of them knew, of course, was that Carrie White was telekinetic.

What’s the old saying? Ah, I remember now. ‘Curiosity flayed the cat alive, ripped it apart limb from limb, and listened to it scream before it killed it.’ That’s the one.

What was it? What could it-- His last thought was surprise.

What we think is impossible happens all the time.