Quotes About Terror

When I go see an R-rated horror movie, I want lots of violence.

Rake was an atmosphere, a heart-thudding, terror-threaded presence no-one could ignore, much less escape. Violence, antiquity, sombre pathos, and darkest horror – the Son of Darkness was a gelid eddy in immortality's current

Sites of battle held on to a madness, as if the blood that had soaked into the soil remembered pain and terror and held locked within it the echoes of screams and death cries.

Words can so easily glide over mayhem and terror and horror, it is a miracle that trust ever exists amongst man.

Look into our friend's eyes, Karsa Orlong. Look closely." "I see nothing." "Delum sees the same, Warleader. He stares at... nothing. Unlike you, however, he does not turn away from it. Instead, he sees with complete comprehension. Sees, and is terrified.

There's nothing usual about killing and dying, about pain and terror.

Perhaps the most realistic worship of all,' the Daru replied, wrapping another severed head. 'How many of us bow before a god in the desperate hope that we can somehow shape our fate? Praying to that familiar face pushes away our terror of the unknown—the unknown being the futur

Rake was an atmosphere, a heart-thudding, terror-threaded presence no-one could ignore, much less escape. Violence, antiquity, sombre pathos, and darkest horror – the Son of Darkness was a gelid eddy in immortality's current, and the Mhybe could feel, crawling beneath her very skin, every Rhivi spirit awakened in desperation.

The historian rode out into the battlefield, almost desperate to rejoin the army. It was not a time to be alone, in the heart of slaughter, where every piece of wreckage or burned and torn flesh seemed to cry out silent outrage. Sites of battle held on to a madness, as if the blood that had soaked into the soil remembered pain and terror and held locked within it the echoes of screams and death cries.

Women's Wear "the terror tabloid of the fashion world.

He wanted to offer reassurance, encouragment, but a maelstorm of images silenced his words. Heavy breathing, but of terror, not desire. Owen's taut body, his hammering heart, his hunger to plunder and invade held back. As well as this, a pitiful ache of longing, of feelings impossible to articulate, a sense of history, of timelessness, a silver reed of connection stretching back into the black diamond-studded night of eternity and magic, the earth, the power, a circle.

The voice was spined with sarcasm, but there was a fearless confidence about it that filled Shemyaza with angry terror. He felt helpless, hanging there within the crystal, enveloping the lightless chill of the nameless presence.

The landscape rushed past him, gathering him up, and he was back there, frozen in terror and pain, pleading for mercy, finding none.

The first experience of the inner realm is impossible to describe, but the feelings it involes are those of terror, wonder, and sheer disbelief.

He passed several bodies that had fallen out of their niches onto the floor, their broken limbs positioned in attitudes of despair and terror, their crushed faces expressing the most appalling horror.

For a few moments the pair of them shared a single terror; a look passed between them.

Sofia's freezing embrace filled him with a delicious terror. He was helpless in her arms. He could feel the tentacles of her greedy soul caressing his heart, a sensation so intoxicating he felt sure he would die in the terror of this dark ecstacy.

Beneath the awesome lament of the cities was an undersong of human terror.

There was something too realistic in this performance, a promise of horror. I didn't want to watch it any more; I was sure it was going to distress me. It was like some soulscape terror being brought into reality, with no escape of return to normal awareness

Gideon brought into my life. The acceptance and the love. The safety. Gideon had given me my freedom back, a life without terror. Giving him vows in return was too simple a repayment for that.

Falling in love isn't about expectations or an outcome.It is about the sheer, weightless, joyous terror of falling into the universal embrace.

Creation is the only answer one can give to fate, to the 'terror of history.

What distinguishes the "war on terror" is that it is a war against a concept, not a nation. And the enemy concept, it seems to me, is pluralism.

My mind disappears behind desperate terror.