Horror Quotes - Page 4

I felt a lunatic’s laugh welling up inside me.

Steven Ramirez

Did you ever think it won’t be the undead who kill us, but ordinary people?

Steven Ramirez

I, a miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to enjoyment.

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Drive. He’s already dead.

Steven Ramirez

The road up and the road down are one and the same." Heraclitus

H.I.M.

But I was still determined to protect her. It might be the one good thing I would ever do in my life. I wondered if God would even notice.

Steven Ramirez

This is Denmark. We are Danes. We keep our distance. We do not pick a seat close to strangers if other seats are available. We do not talk to strangers in the trains.”William Wilson in the short story 'Metro' by Steen Langstrup

Steen Langstrup

Even now I can’t describe the fear that contaminated my blood like black ink.

Steven Ramirez

‘Can’t you see what they are?’ I said. ‘They’re all dead.’

Steven Ramirez

I don’t know how these things died without benefit of a bullet to the brain pan. They seemed to exist in an eternal twilight of longing.

Steven Ramirez

I heard them tearing at it. It was the sound of mortality.

Steven Ramirez

For an instant I saw before me the young girl this used to be.

Steven Ramirez

‘Eighth one this week,’ he said.

Steven Ramirez

I knew then I was going to die in the street without ever seeing Holly again. All because I tried to help an old woman, proving for all eternity that no good deed goes unpunished.

Steven Ramirez

If you’d saved the girl, you’d be a hero. Next time.

Steven Ramirez

I wanted to see the bullet coming, wanted to know the exact moment of my death.

Steven Ramirez

‘There’s no time for right or wrong,’ I said.

Steven Ramirez

You shouldn’t have done that, Dave.

Steven Ramirez

She played me with a bad hand, and I fell for it every time.

Steven Ramirez

Remember. Observe, assess and act. No hesitation. No remorse.

Steven Ramirez

I turned to her, my whole body hard with tiredness and regret.

Steven Ramirez

Oh little Poupchette, some may tell you that you are nobody's child, a child of defilement, a child begotten in fear and horror. Some may tell you that you are a child of abomination conceived in abomination, a tainted child, a child polluted long before you were born. Do not pay attention to them, my little sweetheart, please do not listen to them; listen to me. I say you are my child and I love you. I sometimes say that out of horror, beauty and purity and grace are born. I say I am your father for ever. I say the loveliest rose can bloom in contaminated soil. I say you are the dawn, the light of all my tomorrows, and the only thing that matters is the promise you represent. I say you are my luck and my forgiveness. My darling Poupchette, I say you are my whole life.

Philippe Claudel

There’s nothing worse than delivering bad news to women. I hoped I wouldn’t get good at it.

Steven Ramirez

She smiled at him like a freshman invited to the senior prom. It made my blood boil.

Steven Ramirez

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

Steven Ramirez

The sound of him drinking was indescribable—like dirty runoff down a storm drain.

Steven Ramirez

This guy was a humorless bag of nothing but.

Steven Ramirez

Smiling, he handed Landry the bloody aluminum bat Warnick had used. ‘Time to die, old man,’ he said.

Steven Ramirez

She gave herself a hard twist and fell into a sitting position, staring at me with those maggot-filled doll’s eyes.

Steven Ramirez

Sal turned, an eye stalk hanging from his teeth.

Steven Ramirez

When I lifted up the skin, a fat kidney worm dripping with gore raised its bald, blind head and glared at me.

Steven Ramirez

It’s not about winning, it’s about doing what’s right. And yes, we will do what’s right.

Steven Ramirez

I’m not a bad person.

Steven Ramirez

I was a spectator who had gotten free admission to a freak show.

Steven Ramirez

.” 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.

Alistair Cross

The heart's the trouble. It knows the monster but remembers the love.

Gemma Farrow

I am less interested in ghosts than in people who see ghosts.

Graham Joyce

Deadlines help me, but my muse hates them. My muse functions in fits and starts, and tends to take very long vacations. Deadlines are like a hot poker to his ass. They force us both to sit down and write, which is what it takes to do this.

Alistair Cross

Carroll was eleven years old when he saw The Haunting in The Oregon Theater. He had gone with his cousins, but when the lights went down, his companions were swallowed by the dark and Carroll found himself essentially alone, shut tight into his own suffocating cabinet of shadows. At times, it required all his will not to hide his eyes, yet his insides churned with a nervous-sick frisson of pleasure. When the lights finally came up, his nerve endings were ringing, as if he had for a moment grabbed a copper wire with live current in it. It was a sensation for which he had developed a compulsion.Later, when he was a professional and it was his business, his feelings were more muted - not gone, but experienced distantly, more like the memory of an emotion than the thing itself. More recently, even the memory had fled, and in its place was a deadening amnesia, a numb disinterest when he looked at the piles of magazines on his coffee table. Or no - he was overcome with dread, but the wrong kind of dread.("Best New Horror")

Joe Hill

Sandy’s was one of those places that made poor, white trash feel like high-class consumers. This was the kind of place you’d take your mistress to, but never your wife. Wives expected better. Mistresses were impressed by the blandness of the over-priced wine and the vast Italian menu options.

Alistair Cross

Any writer of horror needs to at least have a good, solid love of the genre. Also, good horror writers need to have a slightly twisted sense of humor. Without humor, horror just isn’t as good.

Alistair Cross

Good horror is written by people who understand that fear is one of the cardinal passageways into the core of humanity. Good horror is generally written by folks who grew up on horror; books, movies, etc. You can’t simply decide to write—in any genre—if you don’t first have an understanding of the topic and a strong mental backlog of reference.

Alistair Cross

Yep,” I said, rolling the body onto its back and staring into the horrified, bloated face, “you’re a single-bagger. My kinda gal.” I gave her a smile and a friendly wink. The face stared back at me with that same frozen look of terror. “Oh, stop being so dramatic,” I said, “You’ll be pretty again, I promise.

Alistair Cross

The Devil always takes back his own.

Andrea Zuvich

The landscape had been so maimed by this new kind of warfare it was as if human architects of great genius had sat down to plan hell, since no two of them could agree on the design of heaven.

Christopher Buehlman

My doppelganger wraps the ear in a handkerchief and shoves it into his pocket as he leaves the train with a nod of his head in my direction.”William Wilson in the short story 'Metro' by Steen Langstrup

Steen Langstrup

We are born. We die. Somewhere in between we live. And how we live is up to us. That’s it.

Steven Ramirez

What I learned in this tragedy was the eternal lesson of good people going bad.

Steven Ramirez

He pulled my skirt up. I began to worry. Everyone knew he had broken in girls before and I didn't want it to happen to me. I said, 'No. Get off, please.' He pulled me down the alley and pushed me to the ground. As I lay on my back worrying about my new blue coat, he pushed his fingers up between my legs — and rammed himself into me.I was crying. His lips were pressed against mine but I was motionless, like a small corpse. He grunted and I knew it was over. He got up, I just lay there on the ground, my tights round my ankles. The clock was striking twelve.As he walked away, he turned and said, 'I've always wanted to do it to you. I like your mouth'.When I got in, my mum said, 'Tracey, what's wrong with you?' I showed her my coat, the dirt and the stains, and told her 'I'm not a virgin any more.' She didn't call the police or make any fuss. She just washed my coat and everything carried on as normal, as though nothing had happened.But for me, my childhood was over, I had become conscious of my physicality, aware of my presence and open to the ugly truths of the world. At the age of thirteen, I realised that there was a danger in innocence and beauty, and I could not live with both.(describing childhood rape)

Tracey Emin

I thought if I loved you enough I could change you. I was so stupid.

Steven Ramirez

This place is Hell’s waiting room.

Steven Ramirez

There’s no better way for a woman to punish a man than to make him sleep away from her.

Steven Ramirez

People talk about survival. What they mean is killing the other guy.

Steven Ramirez

I like to think she hates my guts a little less every hour.

Steven Ramirez

I’m an old man, now. I’ve been alone since my 17th birthday. I’d wanted to marry, have a bunch of kids, and maybe be a grandpa. The big family around the Thanksgiving table, laughing and pouring wine and cracking jokes and harmlessly teasing the missus—I wanted that. I wanted to do something good with my life—something right. I didn’t want what happened to Danny, my best childhood friend, to be the only mark I’d ever make in this world. But I thought it best not to fancy such hopes and dreams: a family, love. I’d been cursed by my best friend, and I thought it right not to inflict that curse on anyone who’d be foolish enough to love me.

J. Tonzelli

Please, never tell me what 'horror erotica' is. Real #art is being lost in a bizarre swamp of over-processed, sexually exploitative garbage.

Carla H. Krueger

Some things you cannot see or explain, but they are there, lurking.Some things dwell in the dark: waiting…watching…haunting.Sometimes evil takes on many forms, many faces.And silence is the last thing you hear, when it’s already too late.THE SILENCE

Barry Brickey

As the thing came closer, what was left of Nick’s body became revealed and I could see how the dead boy’s eyes had bled from the trauma inflicted upon him; they dripped with steady succession onto the floor between his splayed legs. He looked like a rejected marionette tossed haphazardly in the corner by a frustrated puppeteer, his head drooping so low that his chin rested against his chest. His motionless arms lay at his sides, both of them squeezed into tight fists, as if he’d died futilely trying to defend himself.

J. Tonzelli

The last clear thought I have is of my grandmother’s rust-colored wall clock ticking away in the darkness of my apartment—my sanctuary where I dreamed and desired and hoped for goodness and love. I wonder how long that clock will tick without anyone around to hear it. I wonder if maybe I should have taken my grandmother’s silverware or jewelry instead. I wonder – if I knew then what I know now – if I still would have approached Jade that first night and invited her into my life, only to watch as she took it from me and fed it to some Godless thing, as my mother had called it. Would I still have given myself over to her, knowing it would end the same way, with the barbaric flicker of hope that this time she could love me?

J. Tonzelli

He walked steadily, feeling them behind him. His stride did not falter; he pretended they weren’t there. He pretended that all was well—that those hideous things knew nothing about what he had done earlier in the night. But each pumpkin he passed nearly leapt off its porch or railing or wooden chair, expanded and morphed and throbbed as if in a funhouse mirror, and joined the procession behind him. The wind picked up, suddenly and fiercely, and construction paper decorations adorning the houses that surrounded him flapped helplessly against their doors and windows. The man ducked against the cold wind, and from the pursuing army of the jack-o’-lanterns behind him. Cardboard skeletons with fastener joints and witches with shredded yarn hair and ghosts with cotton ball sheets and black crayon eyes escaped their thumbtacks and scotch tape and newspaper twine and they flashed and danced in his face. He brushed at them desperately with his hands, attempting to tear a hole through them and escape.

J. Tonzelli

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Horror Quotes - Page 4

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