Best 496 quotes in «ghost quotes» category

Throughout the slow burning of the day, the silver-skinned boy kissed the air with the ghost of moon-soaked lips, images circling his head and under his jaw, and paint spilled onto paper. He said he was not an artist, but the boy he remembered told him once that the language of art is such a sacred dream. And he believed him.

Today is an ephemeral ghost... A strange amazing day that comes only once every four years. For the rest of the time it does not "exist." In mundane terms, it marks a "leap" in time, when the calendar is adjusted to make up for extra seconds accumulated over the preceding three years due to the rotation of the earth. A day of temporal tune up! But this day holds another secret—it contains one of those truly rare moments of delightful transience and light uncertainty that only exist on the razor edge of things, along a buzzing plane of quantum probability... A day of unlocked potential. Will you or won't you? Should you or shouldn't you? Use this day to do something daring, extraordinary and unlike yourself. Take a chance and shape a different pattern in your personal cloud of probability!

To your simple existence, do not boast; merely to breathe or move or think is not to live. The shore of the sea is but a ghost, compared to the depth its wholeness gives. You exist in the miry foam; make the ocean depths your home.

True love finds its own ways To spread goodness, always.

- Une victoire aussi inattendue que bienvenue, commenta d’une voix sépulcrale un Académicien – être fantomatique, dont le corps était parcouru de petites lueurs brillantes.

Um, thanks,” Jackson told her. “And your name is…?” “I’m Margaret, Margaret Van Der Graaf,” she answered with another eerie smile. Her teeth were so white that they looked bleached. “Van Der Graaf?” Jackson repeated, trying to stifle his laughter. He didn’t want to be rude to the only person in sight, to this kind-hearted stranger who was offering to help him, but… Van Der Graaf? “What are you laughing at?” Margaret asked with curiosity, flashing him a calculating gaze. “I like my name. If you’re going to be a jerk, then I won’t help you. You can stay out here on the street through the night for all I care.” “…Harsh,” said Jackson, giving her a quizzical glance back. There was something ‘off’ about her, something that Jackson couldn’t quite place, something that bordered on horrible loneliness and longing. “Who else lives here, Margaret Van Der Graaf?” He couldn’t resist saying her name aloud. Despite its hilarity, it had a nice ring to it. “Who else lives here?” he urged. “Me, myself and I,” said Margaret simply, snickering when she saw his horrified and annoyed expression

We designate the spirit of the well as 'she' because in most of her personifications she takes a female form, though not invariably. She appears in many guises - ghost, witch, saint, mermaid, fairy, and sometimes in animal form, often as a sacred fish - and her presence permeates well lore, and indeed water lore generally.

We cannot really love the dead. We love a fantasm that secretly consoles. What love sometimes mistakes for death is a kind of intense suffering, a pain that can be endured and absorbed. But the idea of a real ending, that cannot be envisaged . . . Indeed, in the language of love the concept of an ending is devoid of sense. (So we must go beyond love or utterly change it.)

We did a Tarot card reading. She told me different things, most of them depressing and worth forgetting. But what I'll always remember is her prediction of my death, and how I'd become a kind of ghost, ‘wandering’ she said, with a ‘spiritual restlessness’.

What happened to you?" she asked. "Ben was feeling artistic. Wanted to rearrange my face.

When life is a horror.... Don't look like a ghost!

When you feel terribly angry, you're possessed by anger ghost.

When your tristful past is often haunting your mind, then you will look less human and more ghost!

When your past tries to haunt you tell it you don’t believe in ghosts.

With red clay between my toes, and the sun setting over my head, the ghost of my mother blows in, riding on a honeysuckle breeze, oh lord, riding on a honeysuckle breeze.

Where books had been a comfort before, they became a necessity, old books best of all: thick heavy tomes with stories that spread and twisted through other worlds, where he could walk like a ghost in the footsteps of other lives.

Why weren't we born in the same era?" he lamented. She eased past him neither here nor there, looked over her shoulder and whispered, "How mundane and cliche would that be?

You are a ghost, like you were a ghost before because you were never here, but everywhere at once, i wish i could talk like my eyes can see, word you with what i smell, knock your socks off with aromas of a tiny metropolis tourists only catch glimpses of at the Wharf. A thousand LSD trips and middle-aged folks remembering Timothy Leary playing like a Pied Piper leading them all off to jump off the pier.

Work like an angel, dress like a demon, live like a ghost, and dream like a human.

Your beliefs are your power. Your beliefs are your ghost.

You can call me Benny," I offer, hoping to get on her good side. The last thing I need is some crazy woman - dead or otherwise - angry at me. "No," she muses. "I think I'll just call you Ford." "Why not Benny?" "I'd rather keep calling you pansy, but I don't think that will go over too well with the people I work for." "The mafia?" "Keep pushing me, Ford. I may kill you myself.

After I watched 'The Exorcist' I refused to watch any other movie that had anything to do with ghosts or demons. I didn't even watch 'Ghostbusters' until I was much older.

You're crazy,' I say. 'Aye,' Logan says. 'Crazy about you.

You say 'love' too easily, Kepler." "No, not rally - please don't call me that. The idea that love has to be a blazing romantic thing of monogamous stability is innately ludicrous. You loved your parents, perhaps, because they were the warmth you could flee to. You loved your first childhood crush with a passion that made your lips tingle, your flesh grow light in their presence. You loved your wife with the steadiness of an ocean against the shore; your lover with the blaze of a shooting star, your best friend with the confidence of a mountain. Love is a many-splendorous thing, as the old song says....

[Adoption] could turn you into an exquisite comedian. Ask Richard Pryor's ghost.

A Corpse or a Ghost- I'd sooner be one or t'other, square and fair, than a Ghost in a Corpse, which is my feelins at present.

After they remodeled Yankee Stadium I didn't feel that the ghosts were there anymore. It just wasn't the same.

Ah, how often I've cursed those foolish pages, That showed my youthful sufferings to everyone! If Werther had been my brother, and I'd killed him, His sad ghost could hardly have persecuted me more.

A kid under a tablecloth insists he’s a ghost. A table underneath a tablecloth is, I guess, like the rest of us, only pretending to be invisible.

A house with old furniture has no need of ghosts to be haunted.

And fragile is thy tenure of this world Still haunted by the monstrous ghost of God. ("To Science")

All a skeptic is is someone who hasn't had an experience yet.

All who call the Holy Ghost a creature we pity, on the ground that, by this utterance, they are falling into the unpardonable sin of blasphemy against Him.

And in turn I'm hostile guess you could call me anti-social. Niggaz shakin like they caught the holy ghost when I approach em.

All human life is here, but the Holy Ghost seems to be somewhere else.

American Conservatism is finished, and its remaining adherents are, whether they know it or not, merely ghosts wandering, mazed, in the daylight.

Am I in the picture? Am I getting in or out of it? I could be a ghost, an animal or a dead body, not just this girl standing on the corner?

As long as I am nothing but a ghost of the civil dead, I can do nothing.

A religion without the Holy Ghost, though it had all the ordinances and all the doctrines of the New Testament, would certainly not be Christianity.

Birthdays are ghost bounty hunters that track you down to ask, "Que pasa, baby?

As we gain experience with the Holy Ghost, we learn that the intensity with which we feel the Spirit's influence is not always the same.

Because, as we are told—a sad old joke, too— Ghosts, like the ladies, never speak till spoke to.

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Bitterly I wondered if Hardy was going to overshadow every relationship for the rest of my life, haunting me like a ghost. I didn't know how to let him go. I'd never even had him.

Blood!...Blood!... That's a good thing! A ghost who bleeds is less dangerous!

Boo, Forever Spinning like a ghost on the bottom of a top, I'm haunted by all the space that I will live without you.

Boo: "Go talk to her." Callum: "About what?" Boo: "Anything." Callum: "You want me to walk up to her and say, 'Are you a ghost?'" Boo: "I do that." Callum: "I love it when you get it wrong.

Because the pernicious opposition by Satan continues, the continuous enlightened guidance of the Holy Ghost is absolutely essential.

Bigotry murders religion to frighten fools with her ghost.

But there is a fatality, a feeling so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost invariably compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghost-like, the spot where some great and marked event has given the colour to their lifetime; and, still the more irresistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it.