Best 2148 quotes in «horror quotes» category

If you want your son or daughter to be positive. Like to enjoy life and so on and so on - focus on the positive, nature, birds, quite and fast waterfalls... If you want to be negative which will mean a killer, a slaughter focus on the negative. Kill infront of the eyes a chicken slaughter it, fast and quick... do it often, read scary horror books!

If you were to tell the thing down at the bottom of that pit it had napped through forty-two presidential inaugurations, eight British coronations, sixteen popes and three number ones by the Danish pop group, Aqua, it would have told you to stop talking nonsense and shut the fuck up. It had slept, somewhat peacefully, through Emmet’s Insurrection, World War I and II, Vietnam, and even the Great War of Blur Vs. Oasis.

I get diarrhea more often than the average Muslim.

I gaze into the glassy eye of yoursome god, and pluck him by the beard; I uplift a broad-axe, and split open his worm-eaten skull! Compton

I give unto you power to tread on evil and over all the power of the devil, and nothing shall by any means hurt you.

Ignorar a dor que crescia dentro dele não a faria desaparecer. Suas estruturas jamais seriam consertadas – assim como os ossos que se regeneravam após quebrados e precisavam de ajuda para serem colocados nos lugares certos, suas fraturas do subconsciente formaram um monstro dentro dele, uma besta que não podia ser domada.

I grew up in a spooky little town in a house with a spooky little basement, so the sensation of uneasy trepidation is home for me; it takes me back to boyhood.

I Grew Up In A Family With No Prejudices. My Father Always Believed There Were Good And Bad In Every Ethnic Background, And Nationality.

I had a million different dreams but none of them was stronger than the rest. In the end they probably would have paralyzed me.

I had lied to myself from the very beginning, deceived myself into believing that I was being fanciful and overly imaginative. Surely such monstrosities only existed in nightmares? Yet I had lived through a nightmare these past months, and that was no dream at all.        I was still fighting against the awful truth, not wanting to give in, searching my mind for a logical explanation—but there was none. And the most horrible realization of all was that I had known, somewhere deep inside, ever since the day I first set eyes on Vladec Salei.        Plague carrier.        Living death.        Drainer of life.        The phrasing did not matter. No euphemism could strike fear into the hearts of men the way that single word could.        Vampire.         And for me, the uninitiated, that single word meant death.

I had desired it with an ardor that far exceeded moderation, but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart.

I hate this night. I hate that it makes me a person so truly removed from the real me; this man who sits in silence in his parlor – purposely quarantined from his family – is not who I want to be. But on Halloween night, this awful impostor wafts over me like morning fog, and I know there’s no resisting him. Like one anticipates the common cold brought on by a harsh winter, I know this broken and terrified man will soon be visiting when the evening of October 31st falls upon us. And on this yearly autumn night, he will sit and drink. And remember.

I have a present for you.” He raised his eye brows. “I don’t like your surprises.” “You’ll like this one. Close your eyes.

I Have Always Had A Facination With England, And Their History.

I have a new nickname for Dottie. She's now the Crazy Whisperer.

I have graven it within the hills, and my vengeance upon the dust within the rock.

I haven't noticed that horror gets any less respect than most fictional genres. Many of the most notable classics (Dracula, Frankenstein, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and the works of Edgar Allan Poe) are horror. Even Dickens' A Christmas Carol, one of the most famous and most celebrated stories of all time is, at its core, a horror story with all of its ghosts, hauntings, and macabre imagery. So horror, from my experience, gets its fair share of respect.

I have no powers of my own. I'm a dud.

I have no use for your body, for within its youth lies a rotten wench already deceased.

I have seen many cases like N. during the five years I've been in practice. I sometimes picture these unfortunates as men and women being pecked to death by predatory birds. The birds are invisible - at least until a psychiatrist who is good, or lucky, or both, sprays them with his version of Luminol and shines the right light on them - but they are nevertheless very real. The wonder is that so many OCDs manage to live productive lives, just the same. They work, they eat (often not enough or too much, it's true), they go to movies, they make love to their girlfriends and boyfriends, their wives and husbands . . . and all the time those birds are there, clinging to them and pecking away little bits of flesh.

I have seen an evil thing this night,' he said; 'I have seen how the dead drink the blood of the living. And the blood is the life.

I heard them tearing at it. It was the sound of mortality.

I hear you're quite the writer. Quite the teacher's pet." "I... I don't know what you mean." "No? The maybe you're in for a surprise. A maybe it won't be a nice one." Kate heard her voice lashing out, braver than she felt. "I don't know what you're talking about. But nothing that pertains to me is any of your business.' The match hissed again. She saw his black, black eyes flickering. "You're right. How inconsiderate of me." Shaken, Kate willed her feet to move her forward. "You should be more careful," Pearce said. "Anyone could find your key. Anyone could get into your cabin." Kate whirled to face him. "I have a roommate. I'm not alone." "A roommate?" And he sounded like he was smiling... a dark strange smile as if she'd said something particularly funny. "If someone wanted to get you," Pearce said slowly, and another match went out, "a roommate wouldn't stop them. They'd just get you. Wouldn't they?

I hear you're quite the writer. Quite the teacher's pet." "I... I don't know what you mean." "No? Then maybe you're in for a surprise. And maybe it won't be a nice one." Kate heard her voice lashing out, braver than she felt. "I don't know what you're talking about. But nothing that pertains to me is any of your business.' The match hissed again. She saw his black, black eyes flickering. "You're right. How inconsiderate of me." Shaken, Kate willed her feet to move her forward. "You should be more careful," Pearce said. "Anyone could find your key. Anyone could get into your cabin." Kate whirled to face him. "I have a roommate. I'm not alone." "A roommate?" And he sounded like he was smiling... a dark strange smile as if she'd said something particularly funny. "If someone wanted to get you," Pearce said slowly, and another match went out, "a roommate wouldn't stop them. They'd just get you. Wouldn't they?

I Hear the sledges with the bells - Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. II Hear the mellow wedding bells - Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! - From the molten - golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle - dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! - how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! III Hear the loud alarum bells - Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor Now - now to sit, or never, By the side of the pale - faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells - Of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - In the clamor and the clanging of the bells! IV Hear the tolling of the bells - Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people - ah, the people - They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone - They are neither man nor woman - They are neither brute nor human - They are Ghouls: - And their king it is who tolls: - And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells: - Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells: - To the sobbing of the bells: - Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells - To the tolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells, - To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

I just hope — if he does come — it won't be some sort of horror show.

I knew then I was going to die in the street without ever seeing Holly again. All because I tried to help an old woman, proving for all eternity that no good deed goes unpunished.

I knew the end would come, one day. I knew my life deserved to be over. Yet, even knowing that, I was no less fearful.

I knew there were no ghosts in there, but on the other hand, what if there were?

I like stories about supervillains. They teach children that you can accomplish great things even when the whole world is against you.

I Know Many Horror Authors Are Depressed or Act Miserable With Their lives. This Seems To Go With The Territory. For Example, Best-selling Horror Author, Joe Hill Talks About His Own Depression And Anxiety And How He Is Too Afraid To Take A Pill Because, of How This May Diminish And Destroy His Creative Side of Writing Horror. I Myself Happen To Feel The Exact Opposite. I Almost Always Noticed A More Creative Output In My Writing When On Pills.

I know you, Ruth Ann Carver. I know you better than you know yourself. You think you do things right. You think you're a paragon of right living. This is a self-told lie, one bolstered by your coddling parents and grandparents.

I live in different worlds. One world where I perform my duty as a part of society. My favorite is my world. The writing's world.

I'll tell you right now, a ghoul's hunger is true hell.

I'll show you secrets if you stay...you'll never know if you run away...

I like to make blank pages darker. It's this thing I do.

I'll show you all things I can spell with a little spilled blood.

I’ll sing you a tale, Of evil and woe, On his way to school, was little Joe, All that was found was his bloody coat, His bastard tormentor had cut his throat.

…I’m afraid of what the digital age will do to the world, to the things we think are important… it’s almost like people want to believe in some illusion that they’re robots and forget altogether that they’re real, living people… but everything these days is disposable, even people themselves, and that’s why I’m afraid for the world,” Mandy confessed, looking depressed and worried. “So am I… but I’ll still watch all of it as the world dooms itself, because I want to see how it ends, and whether or not they’ll be intelligent enough to forget all of this digital illusion afterwards,” Alecto explained. “I’m sure that they’ll be able to realize how wrong it all is… even though the idiots outnumber most people these days, there are still enough intelligent people to fight against it.

Il paese di Verulengo si estende come un serpente in provincia di Verona, lungo la strada provinciale 9a." Incipit.

Imagine being just strong enough to remember what life was like, feeling things, your heartbeat, the world around you. And imagine you couldn’t have it anymore, couldn’t even properly remember it, but there was just enough that some deep part of you knew what you were missing. Wouldn’t you do anything to get it back, if it was right there for the taking? Wouldn’t you be willing to kill for it?

Imagine yourself taking a stroll through Manhattan, somewhere north of 68th street, deep inside Central Park, late at night. It would be nice to meet someone friendly, but you know that the park is dangerous at night. That's when the monsters come out. There's always a strong undercurrent of drug dealings, muggings, and occasional homicides. It is not easy to distinguish the good guys from the bad guys. They dress alike, and the weapons are concealed. The only difference is intent, and you can't read minds. Stay in the dark long enough and you may hear an occasional distance shriek or blunder across a body. How do you survive the night? The last thing you want to do is shout, "I'm here!" The next to last thing you want to do is reply to someone who shouts, "I'm a friend!" What you would like to do is find a policeman, or get out of the park. But you don't want to make noise or move towards a light where you might be spotted, and it is difficult to find either a policeman or your way out without making yourself known. Your safest option is to hunker down and wait for daylight, then safely walk out. There are, of course, a few obvious differences between Central Park and the universe. There is no policeman. There is no way out. And the night never ends.

I'm a man born to blood and pain, and peace would be a killing blow for me.

I'm a man of few words, most of them end in off!

I'm being haunted," she blurted out. "My dear," he cooed. "Turn yourself into a tourist attraction and charge admission.

Il suo sguardo, spento e lucido, si volse semi-febbricitante verso il tavolo. «Ma questa è la regola! Se la deve guadagnare!» La sua mano stavolta ebbe un sussulto, mentre fissava con un accenno di lacrime e frenesia la fotografia.

Il terrore non è niente, se non è accompagnato da qualcosa di visibilmente orribile. Non riesce a entrare sotto pelle in maniera disgustosa se non c’è niente in grado di nutrire la mente.

I make my way to her table, seeing her eyes growing wider as I do. Ten or so other girls probably just developed instantaneous crushes on me, because they see Carmel likes me. Or so the sociologist in my brain says.

I’m an old man, now. I’ve been alone since my 17th birthday. I’d wanted to marry, have a bunch of kids, and maybe be a grandpa. The big family around the Thanksgiving table, laughing and pouring wine and cracking jokes and harmlessly teasing the missus—I wanted that. I wanted to do something good with my life—something right. I didn’t want what happened to Danny, my best childhood friend, to be the only mark I’d ever make in this world. But I thought it best not to fancy such hopes and dreams: a family, love. I’d been cursed by my best friend, and I thought it right not to inflict that curse on anyone who’d be foolish enough to love me.

I'm an art major. You're a political science major. YOU go lay down the law.