Quotes About Ghosts

They're too tired for bathing, but they're not too tired for dreams. For dreams, too, are ghosts, desires chased in sleep, gone by morning. The longing of dreams draws the dead, and the city hall to many dreams.

They wish, too, that they could warn them about the gray man in the stovepipe hat, about the King of Crows. For not all ghosts remember, and the citizens have need of warning.

I don't go for the bogeyman. There's plenty of evil to fight in life without having to make up devils and demons and ghosts. If you believe that there is Evil in the world, capital E, doesn't that take away your belief in free will? I still maintain that people have choices. To do right. To have hope. To give hope

A country road. Men swaddled in white call themselves knights, protectors of the empire. The ghosts of the Confederacy pass the torch, and the men set fire to the night.

And Koko's behavior has been abnormal since we moved in. He's always talking to himself and staring into space.' 'He's talking to ghosts,' Roger said with a straight face.

Only times and places, only names and ghosts.

If people have ghosts, then why shouldn't other things have them? What makes us so special that only we can have ghosts?

I have no fear of ghosts, and I have never heard it said that so much harm had been done by the dead during 6,000 years as it brought by the living in a single day.

There are such things as ghosts. People everywhere have always known that. And we believe in them every bit as much as Homer did. Only now, we call them by different names. Memory. The unconscious.

In the summer Darkwater was beautiful. It was as if its happier ghosts—perhaps there were summertime ghosts—lived then.

When they talk of ghosts of the dead who wander in the night with things still undone in life, they approximate my subjective experience of this life.

Come, you drunken spirits. Come, you battalions. You fields of ghosts who walk these green plains still. Come, you giants!

Tonight you will be visited by three spirits, the ghosts of indictment past, present and future. They will teach you the true meaning of 'you are still a scumbag criminal.

May was used to strange things like this. Her mom always said all sorts of quirks came with a house as old as theirs. May used to insist it was ghosts. But Mrs. Bird had long ago given her one too many stern looks on the topic. So May simply sank beneath the water and let bubbles drift out of her nose.

They went in a spirit of scientific enquiry, but they could not quite manage to be open-minded; for once on the mountain, strange fears began to assail them. Behind their bravely rational and humanist front, they were still men of the Middle Ages, and their climb became a metaphor for the struggle of Renaissance Europe to get past old ghosts.

Night is the worst time, when her vitality sinks to its lowest ebb and she's frightened of everything. Unable to read or do anything else, she wanders about the house like a woman living with ghosts, who can't find the way or the will to return to the living world.

The men you meet can't do you any harm: ghosts from a life in which wind and sun existed—these good things they no longer remember. They creep or climb or stagger: that is their way of moving. They speak very little; they are no longer Neapolitans, or anything else.

The instant of nature forming between them drained every drop from the walls of his life leaving behind just ghosts rustling like an old map.

I clap my hands together. (Where do I get the strength, the burst of energy?) To chase away the ghosts. Dispel my fears. Arrange the dream. Maintain a kind of balance

Like other ghosts, she whispers; not for me to join her, but so that, when I'm close enough, she can push me back into the world.

Some ghosts are women. Not angels, but ghosts.

Do you think there's such a thing as a ghost who masquerades as a person? Do you believe that there are people whose bodies are still alive here on earth but whose souls are already in hell?

I didn't hear you come in. I was away with the ghosts of my beautiful youth.

A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about.