Ghosts Quotes

What your mind sees when you close your eyes marks the entrance to an endless universe: your imagination.

We're all ghosts. We all carry, inside us, people who came before us.

Tom Farrell had always wished Hell on his boss. On New Years Eve... Hell sent someone.-Along For The Ride-

Back in the 1800's, Ormsby Island was one of South Carolina's crown jewels. The island was owned by Maxwell Ormsby, a very wealthy man who liked to entertain everyone from heads of state to artists and authors and anyone who knew how to make money in business. An invitation to the island was a declaration that you were someone on the move. Once a year, Ormsby opened the island up to the public and hosted a huge fair. It was the social event of the year in these parts. My family still talks about the days when my great grandmother would take the family out to enjoy the festivities. It must have been some party.

Laura smiled a little wanly in the twilight. "Far more afraid of flesh and blood than ghosts," she murmured.

I didn't sleep well last night because one of my ghosts came back, haunting with his presence, and when I woke up, the others weren't here, haunting with their memory.

A city obsessed by its ghosts seems to be weighted down by a conflicted view of the past. Something close to melancholy: a weight it can't quite let go of, a lingering sadness. And though we don't often think of the United States in these terms, this melancholy is as much a part of our history as our triumphs.

I was reaching for one of the handles when I heard Heidler’s voice from behind me. ‘It would not be wise to enter. It is a bad time to disturb the dead.

The others can’t see me,” said the little ghost.“I know,” I said. “My name’s Gwyneth. What’s yours?”“Dr. White to you,” said Dr. White.“I’m Robert,” said the ghost.“That’s a very nice name,” I said.“Thank you,” said Dr. White. “I’ll return the compliment by saying you have very nice veins.

She always imagined their voices entangled somewhere in the wires when they spoke, caught up in a grid she didn't fully understand, passing back and forth. Once the calls were disconnected, she imagined the echoes of old conversations would be trapped there, floating back and forth with no exit, like ghosts.

Most people would probably call me a ghost. I am, after all, dead. But I don't think of myself that way. It wasn't so long ago that I was alive, you see. I was only eighteen. I had my whole life in front of me. Now I suppose you could say I have all of eternity before me. I'm not sure exactly what that means yet. I'm told everything's going to be fine. But I have to wonder what I would have done with my life, who I might have been. That's what saddens me most about dying--that I'll never know.

Of all ghosts, the ghosts of our old loves are the worst.

The old are often forgotten. Life moves on without a care for those who wish to remain in the past. We tend to talk too much because it’s rare that we’re listened to.

Monsters, ghost and everything spiritual and non-spiritual exists. Because we create it, the way to stop it..., is just to stop thinking about it. - (This is how I solve the problem)

Galton was a world renowned anthropologist back in the nineteenth century, though he was a big overshadowed by his cousin, Charles Darwin.

No one is nothing. Everyone has a place and a purpose. Some choose their purpose and others have it thrust upon them but no one is useless. Everyone is someone. The world has use for us all.

Somehow her hula hoop had cut into the driver’s side door like the vehicle was made of cheese.

Perfect devices: doctors, ghosts and crows. We can do things other characters can't, like eat sorrow, un-birth secrets and have theatrical battles with language and God.

But you must stop playing among his ghosts -- it's stupid and dangerous and completely pointless. He's trying to lay them to rest here, not stir them up, and you seem eager to drag out all the sad old bones of his history and make them dance again. It's not nice, and it's not fair.

Darkness lingered in those blue eyes, like ghosts haunted him despite only the two of them standing in this cabin.

I think locality exercises strange influence over some minds. The peaceful meadow-scenery holds no lurking horrors in its bosom, but in the lonesome moorlands, full of curiously molded boulders, grotesque fancies must assail one there. Creatures seem to come, odd and ill-defined as their surroundings. As a child I had a peculiar horror of those tall, odd-shaped boulders, with seeming faces, featureless, it is true, but sometimes strangely resembling humans and animals. I believe the spinney may be haunted by something of this nature, terrible as the trees. ("The Haunted Spinney")

I’m tired. Dead tired. So tired I can barely stay awake to write this. After helping Mr Bircher search for his head all night, I’m a little annoyed too. Dad doesn’t help. He doesn’t know what it's like for a girl my age, trying to fit in at school as much as possible, and trying to fit in all the dead people. It’s not easy being a soul helper.

History doesn’t start with a tall buildingand a card with your name written on it, but jokes do. I think someone is takingus for suckers and is playing a mean game.

How did you get so scratched up then, Emlynn?” He looked at me uncertainly again.I felt wildly like laughing. Too many swooping highs and plummeting lows. What a weird fewdays. Weird being a massive understatement.“Cr-Crawling through gorse bushes.” I took a perverse delight in answering his questions in a way that told him nothing at all. I’d never paid much attention to boys before. Maybe Grace was onto something after all.“Crawling through gorse,” he repeated. “Part of your action-girl antics, no doubt?”“N-no doubt.” I smirked again.

A shade flickered to my left, an eerie shadow balanced even more precariously on the railing than I. Her plimsolls struggled to grip the same rail my fingers now held. I knew her face, just as I knew her death; I’d watched it often enough, those times I’d been unable to avoid crossing here. Nerys was always here, tied to the moment of her death, an echo, forever hurtling down into those waters, only to reappear an instant later, once more wavering on the rails.

He could not shake the feeling - reportedly common among ghosts - that it was not he but those he haunted whose lives were devoid of matter, sense, future.

And the bummer thing is, ghosts never leave. They might leave you alone sometimes, but they're always there deep down, whispering lies in your ear. They echo the lies others told you: That you're not smart enough; that you're not pretty; that you'll never amount to anything.

By and large, the mission of any ghost is to offer humility. They point out what's important by mocking what is not.(Joshua Malina, Sports Night)

It waited for her. Standing resolute in the moonlight, it had stood for a hundred years. Yet it waited just for her. Shadows passed across the moon, a cool breeze ruffled the leaves around it. Yet still it waited for her. Ancient tombs glowed in shimmery moonlight, row upon row of cold silent witnesses.

Is it ghosts that truly haunt us, or the memory of our own mistakes that we wish we could undo?

He specialized in a particular kind of friendship with that eight-limbed, inscrutable, treacherous creature, the happily married coupe, adapting himself closely and lightly to the composite personality.A peevish dead woman...it's absurd...how much less humiliating for them both it would have been if she had taken a lover.

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")

There are savages without God in any proper sense of the word, but none without ghosts.

Oh, very good,' interrupted Snape, his lip curling. 'Yes, it is easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. 'Ghosts are transparent.

you want to knowwhether i believe in ghostsof course i do not believe in themif you had knownas many of them as i haveyou would notbelieve in them either

Whether I'm a good wife doesn't have anything to do with what he was like.

Maybe she'd seen too many Japanese horror movies, and maybe it was just a tingle of warning from generations of superstitious ancestors, but suddenly she knew that what Alyssa wanted was not to be saved, but for Shane to join her. In death.

I knew I would lose my job when I accidentally set fire to my best friend’s house.

It was one thing to talk about ghosts, quite another to have them messing around with things in the physical world.

Hello dead girl," Isola said, ever the hostess."Hello heartbeat girl," said the uninvited guest. "It's like a drum, it's so fucking loud. Turn it down, will you?

There are so many different kinds of ghosts.

As a spirit having a human experience, you can choose to not merely exist but to be fully conscious and aware of living in a limited world. When you take a conscious part in life and its multitudes of choices, you won't let life happen to you - you will make life happen for you.

Mrs. Rouncewell holds this opinion because she considers that a family of such antiquity and importance has a right to a ghost. She regards a ghost as one of the privileges of the upper classes, a genteel distinction to which the common people have no claim.

But a woman should not marry where there is no respect. Respect is the most important thing.

The dead can be even more frustrating to deal with than are many of the living, which is astonishing when you consider it's the living who run the Department of Motor Vehicles.

It seems I can go from elated, embarrassed, angry, and back to embarrassed in four comments flat.

Did you look up 'incubus'?" Ren asked, in her ear. She heard a smile in his voice."Yes. Let's see, 'a lascivious spirit supposed to have sexual intercourse with women in their sleep,' if I remember right.""There. And you thought it wasn't possible. It's common enough they actually had to make up a word for it.""Well, if you've been doing that, then you must have been discreet, because I sure haven't noticed.""It's not my preferred method," he said. "I always wake them up first.

So many men and women I have wronged, reduced to ghosts and shades. They surround me, but I can never let them know I regret what I have cost them, both the living and the dead.

So you know you're a ghost?"tI looked at my hands; they were transparent and glowed faintly. "Can you think of another explanation?

Maybe before you die, it's your ghosts you see.

She could spin it between her legs, skip with it, twirl it around her neck and transfer it from one arm to the other. Shelly hooped because she enjoyed it; it calmed her whenever she would have an argument or a bad day at school, and it also allowed her to think. Today, she needed to hoop more than ever.

The whispers you hear in your ear that you fear in the air everywhere,they are ghosts.The moans and the groans in the lowest of tones no one owns or condones, they are ghosts.You might deem them gremlins or water or wind,while others say shadows or rodents or sin.But oh! I say no! ‘Tis not so, child, for lo!The chills that you feel in a thrill that proves goose bumps are frightfully real,they are ghosts!

Before she knew it, she was just another set of eyes in a dusty attic, waiting for the stairs to creak.

No, honey. Maybe you can put the things from the Overlook away in lockboxes, but not memories. Never those. They’re the real ghosts.

You tell me the dead are coming through a crack in my barn, but I shouldn’t worry?

This was going to be worse than the time I table danced in the diner in high school!

Twas now the very witching time of night,When churchyards groan, and graves give up their dead,And many a mischievous, enfranchised spriteHad long since burst his bonds of stone or lead,And hurried off, with schoolboy-like delight,To play his pranks near some poor wretch's bed,Sleeping, perhaps serenely as a porpoise,Nor dreaming of this fiendish Habeas Corpus.

Anachronism is not the inconsequential juxtaposition of epochs, but rather their inter-penetration, like the telescoping legs of a tripod, a series of tapering structures. Since it's quite far from one end to the other they can be opened out like an accordion; but they can also be stacked inside one another like Russian dolls, where the walls around time periods are extremely close to one another. The people of other centuries hear our phonographs blaring, and through the walls of time we see them raising their hands towards the deliciously prepared meal.

I don’t believe in ghosts and neither should you, Kingsley.””Why not? I’ve been in love with a ghost for thirty years.” Kingsley strolled over to the armchair and sat on the ottoman between the other man’s knees. Soren narrowed his eyes at him. “The body’s not even cold yet. Eleanor’s been gone one day and you’re already trying to get me into bed again?” ”Again?” Kingsley laughed and rolled his eyes. “Always. Are you surprised?” Soren shrugged. “Not really.

I could isolate, consciously, little. Everything seemed blurred, yellow-clouded, yielding nothing tangible. Her inept acrostics, maudlin evasions, theopathies - every recollection formed ripples of mysterious meaning. Everything seemed yellowly blurred, illusive, lost.