Horror Quotes - Page 4

Where moments before the bright morning sun flickered through the branches of the huge oak trees surrounding the property, every-thing in a ten yard radius immediately went pitch dark. The air, already a chilly fifty degrees, dropped past freezing in an instant, and the pressure changed to the point where he thought his eardrums might burst.

No one will ever write a horror novel as scary as reading about my symptoms on WebMD.

Seals:The Five Cosmic Seals are five occult Level 333, 666, 999, 1330 and 003 operating 400,000 minuet mystical degrees.

Within its gates I heard the soundOf winds in cypress caverns caughtOf huddling tress that moaned, and soughtTo whisper what their roots had found.(“A Dream of Fear”)

I don't know where we are, but we'll soon find our way home!" Le avventure di Pinocchio

Imagination, of course, can open any door - turn the key and let terror walk right in.

Snow came back, but she didn't come back right.

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

She was lost now, she'd been silenced- another dead branch on Cordova's warped tree.

Ask yourself what a man without guile might do to your body in the dark.

I have always thought that a wild animal never looks so well as when some obstacle of pronounced durability is between us. A personal experience has intensified rather than diminished that idea.

I Do Not Like Canadians, I Love Them.

When we operate on the basis of the will to control, we are aware of only one kind of "evil": the failure of existence to conform to the plan we have for it.

Be safe on this wicked night.

We're all hunters in my family, you know. Deer, ducks…damsels.

My original intent was to write a horror story about someone who loses his mind and slowly begins to unravel. The story, as I envisioned it, would evoke horror within the context of psychological decay, entropy.

UNDERTAKER!” the head boomed. “BOY, DO I HAVE A JOB FOR YOU!

This is my favorite part of the hunting. Getting to know them . Hearing their legends. I want them to be as large in my mind as they can possibly be, and when I see them I don't want to be disappointed.

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

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.

Human beings across every culture I know about require such stories, stories with cool winds and wood smoke. They speak to something deep within us, the capacity to conceptualize, objectify and find patterns, thereby to create the flow of events and perceptions that find perfect expression in fiction. We are built this way, we create stories by reflex, unstoppably. But this elegant system really works best when the elements of the emerging story, whether is is being written or being read, are taken as literal fact. Almost always, to respond to the particulars of the fantastic as if they were metaphorical or allegorical is to drain them of vitality.

Here’s what's breaking into my imagination and whatever is in there; that you are not afraid you’ve seen, is yours to take.

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

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

One should let one's nails grow for a fortnight. O, how sweet it is to drag brutally from his bed a child with no hair on his upper lip and with wide open eyes, make as if to touch his forehead gently with one's hand and run one's fingers through his beautiful hair. Then suddenly, when he is least expecting it, to dig one's long nails into his soft breast, making sure, though, that one does not kill him; for if he died, one would not later be able to contemplate his agonies. Then one drinks his blood as one licks his wounds; and during this time, which ought to last for eternity, the child weeps.

I Still Have So Much I Wish to Accomplish in My Life, Before I Finally leave This Godforsaken Place -- For Good.

That sure as fuck ain't no cow

On the morning of the exorcism, I stayed home from school.

A certain atmosphere of breathless and unexplainable dread of outer, unknown forces must be present; and there must be a hint, expressed with a seriousness and portentousness becoming its subject, of that most terrible conception of the human brain - a malign and particular suspension or defeat of those laws of Nature which are our only safeguard against the assaults of chaos and the daemons of unplumbed space .... Therefore we must judge a weird tale not by the author's intent, or by the mere mechanics of the plot; but by the emotional level which it attains at its least mundane point... The one test of the really weird is simply this - whether or not there be excited in the reader a profound sense of dread, and of contact with unknown spheres and powers; a subtle attitude of awed listening, as if for the beating of black wings or the scratching of outside shapes and entities on the known universe's utmost rim.

The book the snowman was the best book I have ever read it had suspence durring the whole book it was AWSOME!!!

As I shivered and brooded on the casting of that brain-blasting shadow, I knew that I had at last pried out one of earth's supreme horors-one of those nameless blights of outer voids whose faint demon scratchings we sometimes hear on the farthest rim of space, yet from which our own finite vision has given us a merciful immunity.

It touched me to be trusted with something terrible.

As concerning the things whereof thou asked me, I will tell thee; for the evil is sown, but the destruction thereof is not yet come.

Evan had heard it all before. A paradise underground, made for things like the worm in front of him. A place where Evan would forget he had ever been human, forget he had a mother, maybe even forget his own name. This thing did not remember its own, Evan was sure of it.

The Sodomy sea shall cast out fish, and make a noise in the night, which many have not known: but they shall all hear the voice thereof.

That's because only a real artist knows the actual anatomy of the terrible or the physiology of fear - the exact sort of lines and proportions that connect up with latent instincts or hereditary memories of fright, and the proper colour contrasts and lighting effects to stir the dormant sense of strangeness.

It felt oily inside her head. There were strings of Xavier Stancliff caught inside of her, holding on and spiderwebbing out as he plotted and waited and thought: this is all the bitch deserves. Swallowing, Sandra pushed herself off the bed. It was late and the room was dark. She could see the bundled lump of Jack beneath his own covers. He’d left the television on and the light flickered down the tiny hall. Shadows danced and Sandra shivered as she left the room.In another life, she would have told Danny and Jack about the man. Danny would have whispered, “It’s alright,” and smoothed back her hair from her face and kissed her, lips dry and coarse on her forehead. Then he and Jack would’ve left while she was sleeping. They would’ve trampled the flowers and climbed into Xavier Stanliff’s window and when Sandra woke up there would have been one less man in the world.

Dreading dusk, fearing night, praying for dawn.

Another heaping portion of shitty life, please. And an extra order of I'll just go fuck myself then, too.

As thou know not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her that is with child: even so thou know not the works of what makes all.

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

Envy said, “Girl, I remember well,ye, who I flung from Hell,and not a day has passed, I haven’t missedthe loss of your soul that I mourned,I’ve been bereft and forlorn,for the sweet taste of your flesh I’ve yet to kiss.But no worries—bygones,that’s the past—long gone,I don’t hold a grudge, no, in no way.And though your family they did swindlemy joy of flaying ye on a spindle, I begrudge ye not a little, so let’s play.So, merely toss your token in my well,and all your dreams I will unveil,for ye alone, them I’ll grant.Come closer, little Penny,your hands I know are not empty,ye have something I dreadfully want.

Dr. Richard Selzer is a surgeon and a favorite author of mine. He writes the most beautiful and compassionate descriptions of his patients and the human dramas they confront. In his book Letters to a Young Doctor, he said that most young people seem to be protected for a time by an imaginary membrane that shields them from horror. They walk in it every day but are hardly aware of its presence. As the immune system protects the human body from the unseen threat of harmful bacteria, so this mythical membrane guards them from life-threatening situations. Not every young person has this protection, of course, because children do die of cancer, congenital heart problems, and other disorders. But most of them are shielded—and don’t realize it. Then, as years roll by, one day it happens. Without warning, the membrane tears, and horror seeps into a person’s life or into the life of a loved one. It is at this moment that an unexpected theological crisis presents itself.

The rivers had been drained overnight and what was left were things no person should have to image let alone see. She had been smart enough to stay away. But, other humans— were curious. They saw and the image planted in their heads made them bait for the demons.When they extended their hands and offered them peace of mind, the humans accepted without hesitation.

The stars sparkled above the mist shrouded tents and caravans of the carnival. The night crackled with an odd vibration, as if a veil of peculiarity settled over the company.

These be they that have put off the mortal clothing, and put on the immortal, and have confessed the name of God: now are they crowned, and receive palms.

Blood shall drop out of wood, and the stone shall give his voice, and the people shall be troubled:

From the first, Istanbul had given him the impression of a town where, with the night, horror creeps out of the stones. It seemed to him a town the centuries had so drenched in blood and violence that, when daylight went out, the ghosts of its dead were its only population.

Woodward and Bernstein,” Jared said from seemingly nowhere.“What?”“They were just two reporters. Yet, they broke the Watergate scandal. They toppled an administration. That’s us.”“We’re Woodward and Bernstein.” Alec said, pointing between him and Jared.“Woodward, Bernstein, and Lucy,” Lucy corrected.

Can I borrow a cup of your face...?!

It was not a noisy wind but the kind that suggests something very big and thin fresh from the horror of Infinite Space.

No sport, watching horror movie with friends in bright room.Try that alone at night without light with mirror above screen!

.” I watched her sip at the drink some more. She was strong, healthy, but also petite enough that I was certain I could overpower her. I’d made the right decision not to tranquilize her, I thought. Slipping some powerful barbiturate into a mixed drink wasn’t something I was above, but it always felt like such a lost opportunity. I liked the fight, the tightening and clenching of a woman’s body as she writhed for freedom. I felt the slow swelling of arousal between my legs and made no effort to disguise it.

Violet carved her hate into her flesh one name at a time.

Time is tick, tick, ticking away. How many souls will I capture today? Will they be a challenge or will they be given? Only time will tell as the clock keeps tick, tick, ticking. Your god has arrived with enough hatred for y’all, with enough evil for the big and small, so come one, come all. I will shred your souls and place them in my satchel, call you a settler and make you my peddler. Come one, come all, come stand behind your god. I will lead you into the darkness of Earth's end. Come one, come all, my wilted flowers, come claim your title, speak out and cheer it. Come one, come all, let’s have a ball, my wilted flowers . . . Sweet, Unconquerable Spirits.

The basis of all true cosmic horror is violation of the order of nature, and the profoundest violations are always the least concrete and describable.

The ever-present macabre, a universal dance,You cannot hide, whether you wield crossbow or lance. Like the bones of the house in which you dwell, Death will come, to drag your soul to hell.

I can’t!” Maggie was now standing on the wall. “Past the boundary wall is a bad place. I’m not allowed in the bad place.

Set as higher dimensional beings walking the earth today, who must INcarnate (there is no REincarnation if there is no time. Exception: descending spirals which crystallize in lower frequencies) to live in the various dream worlds (this one included) with the final "kick"/baptism by water, pulling up ALL the densities/dimensions through LOVE.

In the year 2052, it's not love but hate that unites the world.