Quotes About Ominous

I come, Graymalkin!

The raven chides blackness.

And graves have yawned and yielded up their dead. Fierce

like some unholy bird of prey was swooping down on him. Preacher saw the

Mmm....she's doomed! You're doomed!! They're all doomed! Notice I didn't specify what kind of doom, so no matter what happens, I predicted it. How very WISE of me.

It was a December of crows.

Outside, in and about the snow and the dark, where fancies dangled and fear hung over the starched snow in rolling mists, something was coming to pass.

Studded with black hobnails, the great iron doors made an unspoken threat that things would only get worse as they split down the middle and swung open.

the light, by the light, by the light of the bloodred moon. I'll be killing you soon.

Hollow Hall is a stone manor with a tall, crooked tower, the whole thing half-covered in vines and ivy. There's a balcony on the second floor that seems to have a rail of thick roots in place of iron. A curtain of thinner tendrils hangs down from it, like a scraggly beard clotted with dirt. There is something misshapen about the estate that ought to make it charming but instead makes it ominous.

Destruction and ruin," she says with a clack of her tongue. "I can practically smell it on you.

why it's a scary story.

Their laughter floods the hallway, sounding like the cawing of crows.

On the surface they seemed loving and cheerful but she could sense dysfunction bubbling ominously beneath their sporty, matter-of-fact demeanours.

Something bad was about to happen. Uncle had been expecting it.

He had the kind of personality that makes you think a boy will grow up to be a public torturer. However

The world around him grew silent; there was something in the air. The odor of dead meat came down on the wind, drifting through the trees. Soft and sour, the smell of distant death.

P.S. I hope BOB doesn't come tonight.

The trees stood stiffly like sinister monks in black habits guarding the glades and clearings with the broad sleeves of their branches.

That doomsday idea is in everybody's subconscious.

I don't dig the candy floss and rosy kind of film subjects. Give me anything dark and grey!

On the morning I was scheduled to die, a large barefoot man with a bushy red beard waddled past my house.

First, strangely, the owls had died. At the time it had seemed almost funny, the fat, fluffy white birds lying here and there, in yards and on streets; coming out no earlier than twilight as they had while alive the owls escaped notice.

Primero habían muerto los búhos. Eso hacía parecido entonces divertido: esas aves gruesas, plumosas, blancas, caídas en los parques y en las calles...