Quotes About Haunting

Every artist was haunted by lies. Every artist fought to find truths. Every artist failed. Some turned back, embracing those comforting lies. Others took their own lives in despair. Still others drank themselves into the barrow, or poisoned everyone who drew near enough to touch, to wound. Some simply gave up, and wasted away in obscurity. A few discovered their own mediocrity, and this was the cruellest discovery of all. None found their way to the truths.

I, Borduke of the 6th squad in the 9th Company of the 8th Legion, swear on the downy belly of the Queen of Dreams that the creature before me is a natural, unaltered Birdshit scorpion, and may my father's ghost remain in its tomb, since the inheritance was mine to lose anyway, right? Dead means you don't care any more, right? It had better, because if it doesn't, then I'm doomed to paternal haunting for the rest of my days.

Memories and revelations settle in like poisons, never to be expunged.

I'm alone with the ghost of the swamp, somewhere near the weeping willows.

What lived in the room was never far from Daniel's mind. It lurked there, like something he didn't want to to do and had forcibly forgotten, or something to be face in the future that he dreaded. What lived there was the ghost of his former love.

Ghosts only lived in the past, caught up in their melodramas, reliving and reliving them. Selish they were, selfish and blind.

There were too many unexplained noises, too many echoes, too many vacilliating shadows.

The house wove a spell over her, as if melancholy dreams drifted down from the cobwebbed corners.

The shapes in the shadows uttered tittering chimes of thin bones clattering together in the breeze.

I have never heard music like it, nor shall again. It was fast and merry, yet strangely morbid; a blend of wailing pipes and hammered drums.

I could write to you, because everything I wanted to say was forbidden. You haunted my dreams, my every waking moment.

The Merante led the way, and as she descended, she began to sing. Other women joined in the harmony, creating a weird and haunting melody that was the essence of longing and resolve.

If you dare try to leave me behind, I'll follow on foot, and when I die in the snow, Ill come back and haunt you. I'll make your life a complete misery. No ghost will ever have been as inventive in its nastiness as I'll be: I'll turn your food rancid; I'll transform your drink into blood; I'll howl and moan throughout the night; there'll be no place safe from me. And don't think I couldn't do it, Thirrin, Queen of Icemark, because I can assure you, I could.

She had an emptiness in her eyes like a ghost tired of haunting.

For those who had known the couple in the time of their rapture, her absence from his funeral at the Church of the Madeleine on October 30, 1849, felt more like a haunting presence.

Obsession is an accidental haunting, by a person not aware she's a ghost.

Darkness disturbedBy the haunting white moonlightGrey half clouds fail to containThe moon's lust for the night.

What haunts me most about her eyes is the pain I put in them... In the corner of my dark soul Her passion is dark like a kohl She is giving new meaning to these feelings She is complete she is whole.

I believe he died this way on purpose. I believe he wanted no chilling moments, no one to witness his last breath and be haunted by it, the way he had been haunted by his mother's death-notice telegram or by his father's corpse in the city morgue.

Every family is a ghost story.

Sometimes I remember that I can't always protect those I love. Under his fingers, her hair was soft and silky. She didn't try to tell him that he wasn't God, that he couldn't protect everyone. He knew that. But knowing and believing were two different things. What she did say succeeded in stopping his heart. I wish you'd love me. Why? Because then maybe you could protect me, too. Haunting sorrow whispered through her tone.

The memories we bury under mountains of silence are the ones that never stop haunting us.

That afternoon of mist and drizzle, Clara Barcelo stole my heart, my breath, and my sleep. In the haunted shade of the Ateneo, her hands wrote a curse on my skin that was to hound me for years.

Los recuerdos que uno entierra en el silencio son los que nunca dejan de perseguirle.