Horror Quotes - Page 11

The Skinned Men kill again.

My mother used to say not sleeping was the sign of a guilty mind. It could have been. There was a lot in my mind to feel guilty about. When you’re drunk and trying to sleep, your thoughts are visited by the ghosts of those deeds whose heat still glows hottest in your personal darkness. Our actions burn much longer than the moments in which they occur. And drunks like me, we hide from the glow of the embers by fueling other fires and hiding within the flames.

I second that. This is all so creepy. I feel like we are in some sort of strange movie, forget an episode of Buffy. We have passed into official horror movie territory.”-Nessa and Cora

Andrea Heltsley

Especially on rainy nights like this, they would congregate under the bridge, all the boys from nowhere, the boys who lived nowhere, who had nowhere else to go.

Just as there are broken people, there are broken places on this earth. Some have always been broken. All cities have such neighborhoods at their edges, and this city is all edges … block after block of bleakly hopeless outskirts.People don’t bury dead cities. They abandon them. They abandon them to the poorest of the poor, to the lost and the doomed.

They say a basis in fact underlies most legends. They say it all the time, all those Wise Elders in all those old horror films, the high priests, the scientists, the gypsy fortune tellers. On this single issue they agree unanimously.

I think everyone should have a problem with zombies on fire.

Trolls have existed on this planet for as long as humans. This is what I was told and what I translated to Tub. The first mention of them in recorded history is from ninth-century Norway, when the nefarious creatures began showing up in song, verse, and bedtime stories to keep misbehaving children in line. According to Norse folklore, trolls are one of the Dark Beings, the purest embodiments of evil, and they scurried from between the toes of Ymir, the mythic six-headed Frost Giant whose murdered body became the universe in which we live; his bones became the mountains, his teeth boulders, and so forth.

Guillermo del Toro

Horror is the awakening of repressed knowledge, something that you have known all along but kept at the periphery of awareness so that life can go on.

Matthew De Abaitua

It’s a terrible thing, isn’t it? To be dragged under?

Guillermo del Toro

And in the echo of that gladness, horror blooms within me. In its own strange way, it's a horror as deep as any I've experienced so far. I've succeeded in taking another human hostage, in making him urinate on himself. I made a plan to torture someone, and then I carried it out, and it satisfied me to do so. As much hurt and hell as the Wolfman has caused, I don't want to be his judge and jury, his jailer and tormentor. I don't want to be that person. I want to be good. I don't want to fall into a big, black pit of darkness, because what if I can't get out?

Carolyn Lee Adams

Thomas had lived in fear and terror the past few weeks, but this was almost too much. To feel safe only to have that snatched away again.

Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.

Love is always worth the risks, even when, especially when, it scares you.

Mav Skye

We were going to save the world, because no one ever saved us.

Mav Skye

Velva wasn’t merely a rose among the thorns, the lily of the valleys, she was Empress amongst the stars and planet.

Mav Skye

A moment of silence settled over all of them. Then Velva broke it. “We are the hunter and the haunter, the haunted and hunted.…”“But for what purpose?” asked Sir Sun.“It is all for the same purpose, Timothy. The empty that wish to be full.

Mav Skye

I snipped the cherries but left the banana.” She gave him a knowing look. “God,” said Sir Sun. “No, not God. Me. I did it.” She pointed at herself.

Mav Skye

An Undergrounder is one who comes back after he’s or she’s—you know, under the ground.” Daniel’s green eyes flared again. “That isn’t supposed to happen.” Sir Sun nodded in agreement. “Most certainly not.

Mav Skye

And the wolf said, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and find your money, you shit-faced fucker…

Mav Skye

The image of May shoving the gun down her lace panty butt crack and drawing it like an old west cowboy is too much. Who are we? Who the fuck are we? Supergirls for real, that’s who.

Mav Skye

The truth,” Mrs. Hodgkins says, standing back up and turning to her cold marble pupils, “is imagination without boundaries is like a gun, it can be dangerous and kill.” She turns slightly and points to the back of her head to demonstrate. Her brains spill over the left crevice of her skull, clinging like hardened jelly. “Or imagination can save lives.

Mav Skye

Demons? No problem. Just find your local stalker psycho and ask the whistling dear head hanging above his fireplace how many licks on a toostie pop does it take to make a demon go away.

Mav Skye

And then, standing there in my Godzilla t-shirt, her blonde hair combed to the side, she says, “Supergirls stand together.” I had to say the rest, “Supergirls stay together.

Mav Skye

The old folks say there is only black and white. That may do for their tidy lives, but it doesn’t apply to all of us. We, Supergirls for real and the wretched creature at my feet, live in the gray and the mist. We may never see the stars, but we believe in the dream of them.

Mav Skye

I noticed the dudes in the ambulance were staying put; I hoped they were calling for backup, or maybe somebody who could do an exorcism, or maybe my pal Stephen King, because if anybody on earth could figure a way out of this mess, it'd be Uncle Stevie.

It’s a long story, but one you’ve never heard before. This story is about a place that dwells on the mountain; a place where bad things happen. And you may think you know about the bad things, you may decide you have it all figured out but you don’t. Because the truth is worse than monsters or men.

Underneath the Triple Tree there is a man who waits for me and should I go or should I stay my fate’s the same either way.

My father saw him one time. We live in mexico, on the farm, and Father went to feed the horses. At night. Little man was standing there giving hay to the horses. And Father watch and he came and he told Mother, 'Jedushka Di Muvedushka feeding the horses'. He don't get scared, nothing. In the morning we go look, the horses' hair all braided. So Beautiful! All their hair braided.

The Harvester was the rustling of autumn leaves, there one minute, gone the next.

Here are the stories written on the Book of Blood. They are a map of that dark highway that leads out of life towards unknown destinations. Few will have to take it, most will go on peacefully along lamplit streets, ushered out of living with prayers and caresses. But for a few, a chosen few, the horrors will come, skipping to fetch them off to the highway of the damned...

When I awoke I was laying on the floor in a darkened room. The rope, like the very core of myself, had turned from snow white to a hot, unfamiliar red.

The universe and its design is often one of arbitrary horror.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.

Edgar Allan Poe

Hidden in a toolbox, in the rafters of his four-car garage, was an envelope full of pictures taken by a private detective...They were pictures of a scrawny, boyish looking nine year old with a wide mouth and a tangle of brown hair...Her eyes were oblong and deep set, their color hidden from the camera by the slant of the sun. The angles and planes of her face were oddly beautiful just then, in that moment, frozen on Kodak paper. A hint of the woman she would someday become.

Shirley A. Martin

The cabin in the woods is to the American Gothic what the haunted castle is to the European - the seed from which everything else ultimately grows.

Bernice M Murphy Dr

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

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.

Jerome A. Miller

Is is as if life or reality itself has had it in mind all along to unravel the very design i have been trying all along to impose on it.

Jerome A. Miller

What we work so hard to avoid is the shattering of our lives by horrors we know we will be helpless to control.

Jerome A. Miller

Now, however open a person manages to be, there is one possibility to which he remains as closed as ever: the possibility that when he uncovers his deepest anxieties he will find hidden inside them certain horrifying truths which his whole effort to control his life has been designed to keep repressed.

Jerome A. Miller

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.

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.

Using for a noble purpose is still using.

Be dangerous, darling, for the whole world rises and falls at your feet.

Mav Skye

Horror immobolizes us because it is made of contradictory feelings: fear and seduction, repulsion and attraction. Horror is a fascination...Horror is immobility, the great yawn of empty space, the womb and the hole in the earth, the universal Mother and the great garbage heap...With horror we cannot have recourse to flight or combat, there remains only Adoration or Exorcism.

I have a present for you.” He raised his eye brows. “I don’t like your surprises.” “You’ll like this one. Close your eyes.

Mav Skye

Cinema – all art really – has great power. Power to illuminate. Power to transform. For those of us who experience film as literature, classic movies comprised an introductory education in the genre. As kids, many of us went searching through library shelves for obscure source novels after seeing some old movie or other. It was the start of many an adventure.

Velva’s face glowed in the streetlight. “Sir Sun, don’t you see? I am your violent violet. And you are mine.

Mav Skye

Sometimes sanity just means the ability to recognize the end of the road when you reach it.

The feel of her skin as she struggled beneath, the life inside, the death without. The breaching of life and death, of survival uncaged inside him: a dark beast with violence and sex in its soul. In his soul.

Mav Skye

It was like a mask had been pulled away from his face, uncovering a monster hidden beneath his friendly façade.

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

Mark nodded even though she couldn't see. He'd suddenly lost any desire to talk, and his plans for a perfect day washed away with the stream. The memories. They never let him go, not even for a half hour. They always had to rush back in, bringing all the horror.

They ate my humanity but no humanity in beginning humans Earth dust atomsClever microorganisms defy godsBut defy nothingPhantom of truth Beneath reality's facade

The orchestra strikes up with ‘Stockholm in My Heart’, and everyone joins in. Hands sway in the air, mobile phone cameras are raised. A wonderful feeling of togetherness. It will be another fifteen minutes until, with meticulous premeditation, the whole thing is torn to shreds. Let us sing along for the time being. We have a long way to go before we return here. Only when the journey has softened us up, when we are ready to think the unthinkable, will we be permitted to come back.

John Ajvide Lindqvist

I wish this knife was good for something besides death, that I could cut through time and walk into that house, into that kitchen where he trapped her, and get her out of there. I would make sure she had the future she should have had.

You know what’s worse than burying your own child? Not burying your own child.

There, conspicuous in the light of the conflagration, lay the dead body of a woman—the white face turned upward, the hands thrown out and clutched full of grass, the clothing deranged, the long dark hair in tangles and full of clotted blood. The greater part of the forehead was torn away, and from the jagged hole the brain protruded, overflowing the temple, a frothy mass of gray, crowned with clusters of crimson bubbles—the work of a shell.The child moved his little hands, making wild, uncertain gestures. He uttered a series of inarticulate and indescribable cries—something between the chattering of an ape and the gobbling of a turkey—a startling, soulless, unholy sound, the language of a devil. The child was a deaf mute.Then he stood motionless, with quivering lips, looking down upon the wreck.

Are we to have nothing tonight?" said one of them, with a low laugh, as she pointed to the bag which he had thrown upon the floor, and which moved as though there were some living thing within it. For answer he nodded his head. One of the women jumped forward and opened it. If my ears did not deceive me there was a gasp and a low wail, as of a half smothered child. The women closed round, whilst I was aghast with horror. But as I looked, they disappeared, and with them the dreadful bag.

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