Quotes About Ominous

As tears of bubbling pitch stream down my face, my dark work will begin. I will open one of my six mouths, and I will sing the song that ends the Earth.

He pointed to the sky in which Mars twinkled above the darkening roofs, large and red. "Yes, and they say that that fellow up there is closer to our earth than he has been for many years." He laughed. "Soon we'll read that somewhere a child has been born with a mole like a sword. And that it was raining blood somewhere else. The only thing missing now is the enigmatic comet of the Middle Ages to make all the ominous signs complete

of mounting threat.

It is not for nothing that an ominous feeling often attaches itself to a procession. In films and stories we see spectacles forming in the street and parades coming from around the corner, and we know to greet then with distrust and apprehension: their intent is still to be revealed.

The woods were wrong.

the envy of my bridesmaids and girlfriends. How pretty I was and how handsome Ronnie looked. Even Sherlock Holmes couldn't detect a single doubt, a single threat, an iota of anything ominous. Was everything in life an illusion?

May Ye All Wail, for the Destroyer of Nations is upon us. Your lands shall they trample and divide with rope. Your cities razed shall be, their dwellers expelled. The bat, owl and raven your homes shall infest, and the serpent will therein make its nest . . . Aen Ithlinnespeath     The

One beast and only one howls in the woods by night.

Las nubes están tan bajas que podría tocarlas con la mano, y tan negras como si fueran humo de los infiernos…

We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight.

At first, the tornado is nearly invisible. Against the sky, it's white on white.

Cities fell. Earth opened. Planets tilted. Stars plummeted. And the awful silence.

It had been a dark and stormy night.

Damned be the dark ends of the earth where old horrors live again.

Strike, who had been raised by a mother who listened mainly to metal bands, knew very little about classical music, but there was a looming, ominous quality about this music that he didn't particularly care for.

Strike could hear his own heart beating with ominous force, like a kettle drum deep inside a cave. Red-hot threads of panic and dread darted through him.

Some places speak distinctly. Certain dank gardens cry aloud for a murder; certain old houses demand to be haunted; certain coasts are set apart for shipwrecks.

Some places speak distinctly. Certain dark gardens cry aloud for a murder; certain old houses demand to be haunted; certain coasts are set apart for shipwreck.

This is the Black Widow, death.

The storm to end all storms is coming," he had said, "and the only question is going to be who wields the lightning and the thunder." Oppenheimer had always been prone to such melodramatic language. "It has to be us.

I know now, like drumbeats. Portentous, and a little sinister, like tympani strikes at the start of a gloomy symphony. Shostakovich, maybe.

Sometimes you woke up, and you knew for sure, from history and experience and weary intuition, that the brand new day would bring nothing good at all.

The wolf was at the door. His shadow spilled into the room, taking it over.

there's a sense of incomprehensible apocalypse in the air—we all feel it—and there's a rumor going around: the barbarians are coming.