Horror Quotes - Page 17

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

It’s like a haunted house we can’t leave,’ Neil said.A haunted house we’re afraid to leave, Tony thought.

Working with some real dirt seemed fitting for a woman whose hands felt like they would remain forever filthy. She decided to go after the thickets of weeds that seemed determined to ruin her garden, just as she had gone after those dark things crawling from her drain that seemed determined to ruin her life. Summer rains had nourished the thick tangles. Healthy and strong, the weeds twisted along the yard’s edges in dense tuffs. Eden’s hoe whacked away, and at least she felt some satisfaction denying those flower-killers the opportunity to strangle the remaining beauty from her world. She swung the hoe like a pissed off Grim Reaper.

Number me the things that are not yet come- gather me together the dross that are scattered abroad- make me the flowers green again that are withered- Open me the places that are closed, and bring me forth the winds that in them are shut up- shew me the image of a voice: and then I will declare to thee the thing that thou labor to know.

The clear stars before him took to shuddering and he knew why; they shuddered at sight of what was behind him. He had never divined before that strange Things hid themselves from men, under pretence of being snow-clad mounds of swaying trees; but now they came slipping out from their harmless covers to follow him, and mock at his impotence to make a kindred Thing resolve to truer form. He knew the air behind him was thronged; he heard the hum of innumerable murmurings together; but his eyes could never catch them - they were too swift and nimble; but he knew they were there, because, on a backward glance, he saw the snow mounds surge as they grovelled flatlings out of sight; he saw the trees reel as they screwed themselves rigid past recognition among the boughs.

As Roran watched, the man's arms, neck, and chest shriveled, and his bones appeared in sharp relief-from the bowlike curve of his collarbones to the hollow saddle of his hips, where his stomach hung like an empty waterskin. His lips puckered and drew back farther than they were intended to over his yellow teeth, baring them in a grisly snarl, while his eyeballs deflated as if they were engorged ticks being squished empty of blood, and the surrounding flesh sank inward.

Through their discomforts Dom and Phil were missing everything of interest: the sudden strip marshes, the faces in the rock formations, the perfect lakes, the awesome måskoskårså valley grooved into the earth during the Ice Age, the golden eagle circling above it, and the views of a landscape it was impossible to believe existed in Europe.

It was the kind of scream that would be in a horror movie right before someone got chopped up into little bitty pieces.

Unfathomable to mere mortals is the lore of fiends.

This is my one last call and lullaby for this eternity. All of my medicine.

Hanging from every corner, above every window, standing on every shelf and tabletop, were dozens of handmade birdcages. Nomi had crafted them all, mostly out of old fishing twine, scraps of nets, and chicken wire. Woven in between the bars of the cages were bits of seashells, crab shells, pebbles, and driftwood she had scavenged along the beach. In a pinch she had made a few out of old clothes hangers she had scissored apart and woven together with strips of a negligee or shirt. Each one was personal, each one was unique, each one was a story

You Can Not Be Honest With Others, If You Are Not First Honest With Yourself.

Never Sell Yourself Short.

She suddenly felt herself gasping for air, as if she’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe. She rocked back in her chair and nearly fell over, then slumped against the green-covered table. The bowl fell from her fingers, shattering at her feet, broken glass scattering everywhere.

The preface? Why would he waste time with the preface? Skip the preface and move on to the meat of the thing!

Daylight does not lend itself to terror: objects and people are plain to see; and we encounter there only those things which dare to show themselves in the glare of day. But night, opaque night denser than walls, night, empty and infinite and so black and fathomless that terrifying things reach out and touch us, night when we feel horror stirring, mysteriously prowling―night seemed to him to hide some unknown, imminent, threatening danger. What could it be?

Remember that if I were born of the underworld, you were born of flowers. You are the blood the forest feeds upon, and it is you who gave the woods their dark magic. Time doesn’t exist, and in another world I never left you. I’ve transformed your wounds into a scepter for a queen. The nightcatcher may think that she’s had her victory - but your veins are buried in the map of the earth and she can never have you. She thinks she can own the universe because she’s enslaved gods and eaten stars, but she couldn’t even kill me, living here in her tunnels, because you protected me with your love.

Flakes of snow swirled and danced across the porch. The Overlook faced it as it had for nearly three-quarters of a century, its darkened windows now bearded with snow, indifferent to the fact it was now cut off from the world… Inside its shell the three of them went about their early evening routine, like microbes trapped in the intestine of a monster.

You can see the evil, the evil is everywhere. As Far as I can tell I can build a town full of horror.

For a moment, she thought it natural in a way seeing a plane fall from the sky can seem natural, too. The horror comes later.

Since the fall of Man and the return of Magery and our older ways, most disputes were settled in a civilized manner: sword to the face, mace to the neck, acceptable societal situational handlers

Know your number. If you don’t know it you might forget who you are.

The worst stories usually make you think: 'but nobody had to die'.These are called true stories.

If I become like you, I will have no will of my own. I will have no individuality, I will just be your puppet.’'True.’ Sio smiled thinly. 'But even a puppet may dance before its strings are drawn tight. You will dance, Cass, and the heavens will applaud you.

And one thing we know is real: horror. It is so real, in fact, that we cannot be sure it could not exist without us. Yes, it needs our imaginations and our consciousness, but it does not ask or require our consent to use them. Indeed, horror operates with complete autonomy. Generating ontological havoc, it is mephitic foam upon which our lives merely float. And, all said, we must face up to it: horror is more real than we are.

When I am perfect, I will be allowed to leave.

Then, idly scratching his nose, he walks to the bookcase in the living room and stoops before a set of drab brown Victorian volumes gathering dust on the second shelf from the bottom.How amusing, he thinks, as he withdraws one of them-amusing that a key to dark and ancient rites should survive in such innocuous-looking form.A young fool like Freirs would probably refuse to believe it. Like the rest of his doomed kind, he'd probably expect such lore to be found only in ancient leather-bound tomes with gothic lettering and portentously sinister titles. He'd search for it in mysterious old trunks and private vaults, in the "restricted" sections of libraries, in intricately carved wood chests with secret compartments.But there are no real secrets, the Old One knows. Secrets are ultimately too hard to conceal. The keys to the rites that will transform the world are neither hidden nor rare nor expensive. They are available to anyone. You can find them on the paperback racks or in any second-hand bookshop.

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 can’t believe it.’ I whispered.‘You can’t let him lure you back in, Felicia. He’s wrong. He’s wrong!’ Vanian pleaded, I could feel the quiver of his magic, the wisps that were fighting against the iron burning into his wrists, I could feel the crackle as it fought in the air, against his emotions, against his pain. I shook my head, was about to speak but Adam grabbed him by the front of his shirt; as if a few more tears and shreds couldn’t go amiss. The tightness of his grip paled the Faerie’s cheeks, caused the blood to trickle down faster, dropping to the floor.‘My wife.’ He yelled, ‘She’s my wife, silverblood.’ With each growl of a syllable he accented it with a punch to Vanian’s face.I couldn’t take much more. I jumped over and pulled at Adam’s shoulders, fingertips driving into the nook of his collarbone, pressing down with as much as I had in me, anything to break his hold. He recoiled and rose his hand to me, at first I flinched but I stopped. He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t.

He who writes is the martyr, seen through the eyes of the unassuming doll.

...Don't be surprised, and I say it darkly, do not be surprised if you lose your Luke in this cause; perhaps Mrs. Dudley has not yet had her own mid morning snack, and she is perfectly capable of a filet de Luke á la meuniére, or perhaps dieppoise, depending upon her mood; if I do not return" -and he shook his finger warningly under the doctor's nose- "I entreat you to regard your lunch with the gravest suspicion." Bowing extravagantly, as befitted one off to slay a giant, he closed the door behind him.

There are black zones of shadow close to our daily paths, and now and then some evil soul breaks a passage through. When that happens, the man who knows must strike before reckoning the consequences.

From Bralloc’s mounted position he could see over the heads of most of his men, but the thickening darkness of evening coupled with the storm made it impossible to see more than a few yards. He jerked at the reins and swung his horse around, pushing into the crowd. The large grey charger was nearly as mean-spirited as her owner; she snorted and bucked her head, then nipped, stomped and shoved her way through, giving every indication that she was enjoying herself. His men drew to either side, and the crawling excitement in Bralloc’s belly became an angry swarm of insects. The scout – the ballsy woman whose name he could never remember - stood several paces away. Bralloc paid her no heed, however, and the mixture of nervousness, relief and fear on her face didn’t even register in his mind: his eyes were locked on the captive at her side. His lips twitched into a smile and he licked them, like a ghoul eyeing a fresh corpse. He forced himself to move slowly, deliberately – sucking each individual drop of marrow from the bones of his anticipation..."-From 'Feral

Your cunning has proved to be that of Cain. I grant you power over the Hellmouth. May Samael take my revenge." The thing said with a bitter look and a voice that seemed to be many.

He lives down in a ribcage in the dry leaves of a heart.

Melody exploded. "THIS ISN'T LIKE GETTING A FISH TO SEE IF I COULD BE RESPONSIBLE ENOUGH FOR A PUPPY!" She took a deep breath, calmed herself and lowered her voice. She then repeated the statement as if doing so removed the stink of the outburst."I'm well aware of that," said Lonnie. "And not to poke it with a stick, but you don't see any puppies sniffing around that empty fish bowl, do you?

Hello, Kanta. They're saying interesting things about you on the news," she said. "I wondered if you'd survived.""He didn't," I said. "I killed him."Silence."I killed Mkhai, too," I said. "Tens of thousands of years, gone in the blink of an eye.""Why are you telling me this?" asked the voice."Because you're next," I said. "I'm the demon slayer. Come and get me.

How many people has this hotel eaten?

Being insulted by a smart-mouthed little punk like you.. really pisses me off!

The mirror's light sparks in the eyes,And horrified, my lids drawn tight,I step back to that realm of nightWhere not a single exit lies...(Untitled: "I pass away this life of mine...")

Just behind his jaw bones a tiny movement was perceptible, like the movement of gills in a fish.

Yeah, try wearing a piss cutter for eight years… then it wouldn’t be so bad.

Believe in yourself, Follow your dreams, and all things are possible!

Behind every great hatred is a love story. For I am a man who has known and tasted love. I say “a man” because that is how I know myself. Look at me, and what do you see? Do I not take the form of a man? Do I not feel as you do, suffer as you do, love as you do, mourn as you do? What is the essence of a man, if not these things?

Right at this moment, I only want silence. I believe that the end of life is silence in the love people have for you. I've actually been running through what people have said about the end. Religion says that the end is one thing, because it serves their purpose. But great thinkers alike haven't always agreed. Shakespeare knew how to say it better than anyone else. Hamlet says 'The rest is silence.' And when you think of the noises of everyday life, you realize how particularly desirable that is. Silence.

Until that afternoon in October four years ago, I hadn't known dogs could scream.

We'd stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You'd think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn't.

Seth embraced her tightly. “Don’t write your future so grim. You will not die, Chloe. I will not let you die here in Alexander’s mad kingdom.” He moved her back, reaching down with one hand to gently wipe away her tears.

To make love is to give birth to death.

She fished a gum wrapper and pen from her bag and wrote down her number. "I'd like to stay friends with you and Jason. That's my cell number. You can call me any time you want, except at two-thirty-six in the morning."tAlice cocked her head. "How come I can't call you at two-thirty-six/"t"I need that minute to sleep," Jessica said, smiling.

Horror is not unimaginable, it has neither the face of a monster nor the bat-wings of a demon. It is calm and tranquil, and it is durable, lasting whole days and nights, months; years, perhaps. It is not mortal. It strikes at the eyes, only the eyes.

It strikes me profoundly that the world is more often than not a bad and cruel place.

Ever since I arrived to a state of manhood, I have felt a sincere passion for liberty. The history of nations doomed to perpetual slavery, in consequence of yielding up to tyrants their natural born liberties, I read with a sort of philosophical horror; so that the first systematical and bloody attempt at Lexington, to enslave America, thoroughly electrified my mind, and fully determined me to take part with my country.

The people inside the gym didn’t stand a dead drunk’s chance.

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

Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,tThe lady of situations.Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,tAnd here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,tWhich is blank, is something he carries on his back,tWhich I am forbidden to see. I do not findtThe Hanged Man. Fear death by water.

The greatest futility! says the congregator, "The greatest futility! Everything is futile!" What does a person gain from all his hard work- At which he toils under the sun? A generation goes and another cometh forth, but the earth remains the same.

Just one pit stop, Rae. One pit stop that won't even take an hour. Then it's over. It's finally over.

Suddenly, she heard a loud bang, a thump and a scream that caused her to jump from the bed. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up and her body became one big goosebump.

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.