Quotes About Ghost

It was no wonder that they thus questioned one another's actual and bodily existence, and even doubted of their own. So strangely did they meet in the dim wood that it was like the first encounter in the world beyond the grave of two spirits who had been intimately connected in their former life, but now stood coldly shuddering in mutual dread, as not yet familiar with their state, nor wonted to the companionship of disembodied beings. Each a ghost, and awe-stricken at the other ghost.

Ghost implies a whole lot of things that I am NOT. Do I look like Casper to you? Fine, said Nick. We're not ghosts, we're Undefined Spectral Doohickies. USDs. Are you happy now?

All that was left of it now were the ends; two rusting steel pylons reaching heavenward, at a slight lean toward each other. In daylight, from certain angles, it played a trick on the eye. One could almost see the trajectory of their yearning, following their invisible paths up and across. One could see the ghost of the entire arch just from the hint of its bases.

My cat seeking a bed on the tiled floor Shakes his thin, mangy body ceaselessly; The soul of an old poet wanders in the rain-pipe With the sad voice of a shivering ghost.

l'âme d'un vieux poëte erre dans la gouttière avé la triste voix d'un fantôme frileux

I have grown up watching films like 'Striptease' and 'Ghost,' and here I was in the same frame as the gorgeous Demi Moore.

There was something about the Cleveland Play House that was the holiest place - you know, with the ghost light on the stage and the brick. It was just the most beautiful theater in the world.

And she did not weep for herself, but for him: the hour after his birth she had looked in his dark eyes and had seen something that would brood there eternally, she knew, unfathomable wells of remote and intangible loneliness: she knew that in her dark and sorrowful womb a stranger had come to life, fed by the lost communications of eternity, his own ghost, haunter of his own house, lonely to himself and to the world. O lost.

Through Chance, we are each a ghost to all the others, and our only reality; through Chance, the huge hinge of the world, and a grain of dust; the stone that starts an avalanche, the pebble whose concentric circles widen across the seas.

Then he walked off with fatigued relief into time toward the twentieth century, feeling gratefully the ghost-kiss of absent weight upon his now free but still leaning right shoulder.

A shudder ran through Paul D. A bone-cold spasm that made him clutch his knees. He didn't know if it was bad whiskey, nights in the cellar, pig fever, iron bits, smiling roosters, fired feet, laughing dead men, hissing grass, rain, apple blossoms, neck jewelry, Judy in the slaughterhouse, Halle in the butter, ghost-white stairs, chokecherry trees, cameo pins, aspens, Paul A's face, sausage or the loss of a red, red heart.

The future ours for a while to hold, with its heaviness— and hope moving from one location to another like the holy ghost that it is.

The others can't see me," said the little ghost. "I know," I said. "My name's Gwyneth. What's yours?" "Dr. White to you," said Dr. White. "I'm Robert," said the ghost. "That's a very nice name," I said. "Thank you," said Dr. White. "I'll return the compliment by saying you have very nice veins.

What do you mean, a ghost? The Honorable James Augustus Peregrine Pympoole-Bothame, heir to the fourteenth Earl of Hardsdale, is taking no insults from young girls!

but talking to a ghost about a demon when you're in a room full of people who can't see either of them is not to be recommended.

Ostatní mn? nevidí," ?ekl ten malý duch. ,,Já vím," p?ikývla jsem, ,,Jmenuju se Gwendolyn. A ty?" ,,Pro tebe ješte po?ád doktor White." ,,Jmenuju se Robert," ?ekl duch. ,,To je moc p?kné jméno," konstatovala jsem. ,,D?kuji," ?ekl doktor White, ,,Ty máš zase p?kné žíly.

But we were madly in love! I didn't even consider leaving her because of her ghost vagina. She meant everything to me. I loved her this >< much! (That means infinitely).

I wanted to tell her that Luka wasn't like any other boy I'd ever know before. Not because he was a ghost. Because he was Luka.

She had killed him with a whisper, and she would kill two more before she was through. I'm the ghost in Harrenhal, she thought. And that night, there was one less name to hate.

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold …

Barefoot surefoot lightfoot, she sang under her breath. I am the ghost in Harrenhal.

I am the ghost in Harrenhal.

Romance like a ghost escapes touching it is always where you are not, not where you are. The interview or conversation was prose at the time, but it is poetry in the memory.

Unable to forgive his own sins, unsatisfied with just the goodness of his heart, [Kerouac] would go on poisoning his body until it rotted around him, rotted, bloated, exploded, and fell away to let the pure Jack Kerouac, the saint, escape free at last - remembered only as a ghost.