Best 496 quotes in «ghost quotes» category

It's a shame, when I'm at the checkout line, and the cashier holds up my bill to the light, in search for a ghost president, or slashing a yellow marker to see if counterfeit. Even in money we can't be trusted. Makes we wonder whats next, will the government make a marker to slash our hand, or an x-ray we will have to walk through, to check if we have a dishonest heart or corrupt spirit?

It's kinda cool to think about you as a real person, instead of some fetus ghost.

It's not good to dig in the past, raise the ghost up from the grave, and have it walk with the flesh.

It's not the way I wanted to spend eternity with the man I love, but it will have to do. At least we are together.

I turned to him and he reached for my hand. It would have been easier to walk away. But the wind still blew around us and the house still stood.

It was all real and blazing with detail. But I was shadow, light as mist, mute as the wallpaper.

It was another dark and windy night. Like so many others.

It was no wonder that they thus questioned one another's actual and bodily existence, and even doubted of their own. So strangely did they meet in the dim wood that it was like the first encounter in the world beyond the grave of two spirits who had been intimately connected in their former life, but now stood coldly shuddering in mutual dread, as not yet familiar with their state, nor wonted to the companionship of disembodied beings. Each a ghost, and awe-stricken at the other ghost.

I wanted to tell her that Luka wasn't like any other boy I'd ever know before. Not because he was a ghost. Because he was Luka.

I was raised as a Baptist in the Bible Belt of the South. Until the age of 37, I had never heard anyone teach or preach about the baptism of the Holy Ghost. Oh yes, I had heard those scriptures read, more aptly read over, and had read over them myself, but I had never heard anyone try to explain this amazing experience or even give it any credence.

I was too much taken up with another interest to care; I felt beneath my feet the threshold of the strange door, in my life, which had suddenly been thrown open and out of which came an air of a keenness I had never breathed and of a taste stronger than wine. I had heard all my days of apparitions, but it was a different thing to have seen one and to know that I should in all likelihood see it familiarly, as I might say, again. I was on the lookout for it as a pilot for the flash of a revolving light and ready to generalise on the sinister subject, to answer for it to all and sundry that ghosts were much less alarming and much more amusing than was commonly supposed. There's no doubt that I was much uplifted. I couldn't get over the distinction conferred on me, the exception - in the way of mystic enlargement of vision - made in my favour. ("Sir Edmund Orme")

Lou sat on the dock and stared into the blue depths of Waterton Lake to where a figure floated under the surface. It was the woman who’d walked into Emerald Bay, her pockets full of stones, but in the dream, the woman’s face was a mirror of Lou’s own.

Logan lowers his head close to mine. 'Just know this, Ivy Calhhoun,' he begins. 'If I werena a ghost I would open all door for you, properly.

Mairidh mo ghaol gu siorraidh, Ivy Calhoun," he says, and I already know that means "I'll love you forever.

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

Martha Ridgley had been a single, working-class woman with no children or close family. Her killer had never been caught, and her case was eventually forgotten. But not by everyone—not by whoever had been paying the rent on Apartment #37 for over two decades until, for one reason or another, the lease was finally up. The Woman in Apartment #37 by John Mead from Book of the Dead

Mind sees ghost when frightened and hopeless.

Maybe these whole woods are haunted with crushed girl ghosts and that's what I'm hearing. They're coming to check me out, make sure I'm cool. Which I'm not, so they'll be disappointed.

Michael had always thought that seeing ghosts was stressful. Those wandering spirits were nothing compared to whatever women had going through their heads at all odd hours of the day.

Micro: When his mind detached from his body he saw the murderer stab him repeatedly. Later, he told the detective - who retired. He blamed stress.

My life will end someday, but it will end at my convenience.

Miss Millick wondered just what had happened to Mr. Wran. He kept making the strangest remarks when she took dictation. Just this morning he had quickly turned around and asked, "Have you ever seen a ghost, Miss Millick?" And she had tittered nervously and replied, "When I was a girl there was a thing in white that used to come out of the closet in the attic bedroom when you slept there, and moan. Of course it was just my imagination. I was frightened of lots of things." And he had said, "I don't mean that traditional kind of ghost. I mean a ghost from the world today, with the soot of the factories in its face and the pounding of machinery in its soul. The kind that would haunt coal yards and slip around at night through deserted office buildings like this one. A real ghost. Not something out of books." And she hadn't known what to say. ("Smoke Ghost")

More ghosts have been created in bedrooms than anywhere else.

My laps-meter, the first caliper of the soul and the first hope of bridging the dread chasm that has rent the soul of Western man ever since the famous philosopher Descartes ripped body loose from mind and turned the very soul into a ghost that haunts its own house.

Modernity kills ghostly romance ("The Undying Thing")

My ghost is the only soul who ever comes to cry on my grave... Only the skies cried sincerely on my funeral.

My shooting star wish would truthfully be to never leave your side. To be the one who will be there to encourage you in all your hopes and dreams. Be there if you fail so I can pick you back up and never let anything bad happen to you again.

Nadie sabía apreciar la seguridad que proporcionaba la compañía de un fantasma.

Neither of us had lived in a house since we were kids; apartments, it turns out, are very different things, psychologically. Houses—especially old and creaky houses—are individuals, somehow; their fronts are faces, their closets are pants pockets.

Never in any Jane Austen novel did the love interest pretend to be a fortune-teller," Helen said, "Why would someone do that?

No,” she said. “You are not Patrick Swayze. I am not Demi Moore.” She touched a switch on the little box and it started ticking. “And this sure as hell isn't pottery class.

Nice. I like a little desperation in a guy. It builds character.

No! no! My engagement is with no bride--the worms! the worms expect me! I am a dead man--I have been slain by robbers--my body lies at Wurtzburg--at midnight I am to be buried--the grave is waiting for me--I must keep my appointment!

None of this is his fault, but here we sit in the police station.

None of this would be a problem if you were clever enough to keep your extracurricular activities a secret.

Nothing is ever as simple as it seems. At the edge of perception, weird things dance and howl.

Oh God just look at me now... one night opens words and utters pain... I cannot begin to explain to you... this... I am not here. This is not happening. Oh wait, it is, isn't it? I am a ghost. I am not here, not really. You see skin and cuts and frailty...these are symptoms, you known, of a ghost. An unclear image with unclear thoughts whispering vague things... If I told you what was really in my head, you''d never let me leave this place. And I have no desire to spend time in hell while I'm still, in theory, alive.

Now that's a ghastly moon, not ghostly.

Now, though, there was a second part, an artifact of his recent illness, as if his melancholy had, in a universe adjacent to this one, claimed his life. As if he was his own ghost, standing slightly behind himself, observing.

Only after you've done the exorcism, then you'll understand that ghost's also a species.

Perhaps her parents are still with her, even after all these years. Carving a celestial path for her which she follows blindly. Whispering encouragement in her ears and reminding her why she chose the life she now leads. Avenge us.

Remember thee? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat in this distracted globe. Remember thee?

Pesticide is meant to deal with pests as passion is to deal with unnecessary loss of interest! Passion kills the ghosts of "I can't".

Que dormía, acurrucada, metiéndose dentro de él, perdida en la nada al sentir que se quebraba su carne, que se abría como un surco abierto por un clavo ardoroso, luego tibio, luego dulce dando golpes duros contra su carne blanda; sumiéndose más, hasta el gemido.

Quick," I hissed. "Tell me what you know about this place." The ghost frowned. His face appeared sweaty and his hair was a mess, like he'd been running his fingers through it. "How about, 'hey, Frankie. How you doing, Frankie? I see you're missing both your legs, Frankie.

Shadow’s heart stopped. While Theo did not observe it with his eyes, he felt the life juice leave the dog’s body. In the final shudder of the death throe, Shadow gave up his ghost.

She’d wanted Randall Parks from the moment her hormones kicked in. Her best friend, her guardian when things got rough, her knight in somewhat-rusted and dinged up armor—he wore many hats in her life and none more important than that of best friend.

She’d just seen her dead grandmother and had a lovesick warlock on her lawn. The last thing she needed was to worry about extraterrestrial probing.

She shot him a look. "What?" he asked. "Where's my journal? I want to jot this down for posterity." Huh? He lifted a confused brow and she smirked, ornery light glinting in her amber brow. "You just spoke, like what? A whole four sentences? Not to mention there were a few adjectives thrown in there. That must be some sort of record. It should be memorialized accordingly, don't you think? She batted her lashed. Jesus, the woman was too much.

She finally took her first good look at the guy beside her. Kerri's eyes widened...because she could see right through him, all the way to the nineteen-foot Christmas tree on the other end of the brightly-lit mall. "You're a ghost!