Quotes About Dark

I actually really liked the music to the 'Friday the 13th' Nintendo game. I still listen to it all the time. I sampled it in a couple records, too. It's hypnotic and dark but also really pretty.

He won't be one of those girlishly pretty men with curly gold hair...He'll be dark, dangerous, too. Brave, certainly, but not without flaws. I like my heroes human.

He turned his head, kissed the top of her head. I love you. It sounds lovely in bed, in the dark, when everything's quiet. Because it's true. And it'll be true in the morning.

We're a superstitious breed, we Irish, and wise enough to build around a faerie hill without disturbing it, to leave a stone dance where it stands. And to keep back from a place where the dark still thrums.

I don't believe in demons, That isn't a lie. But I have seen what was once the unbelievable. I've seen the beauty and the wonder of it. I believe what we've termed the uncanny - there is light and dark in them, as there is light and dark in all of us - will also be swept up and detained and tested. And, I fear, that what H5N1-X leaves us, all of us, will not destroy us, but the fear and violence it breeds in those of us who give in to it - the forced restrictions on freedom - could.

the pit where flames crackled, sending sparks shooting high. Odd shapes had been carved in the trunks of the circling trees. The young girl began wondering where her father was. She had hidden in his car, giggling to herself at the trick she was playing on him. When she had followed him through the woods, she hadn't been afraid of the dark. She'd never been afraid. She had hidden, waiting for the right time to jump out and into his arms. But he had put on a long

Loss can shake faith if you let it, and the dark gloats when faith seeps out with loss.

Love needs tending, is what I'm saying. It's some work to keep the light and the warmth, but why would you want to be cold in the dark?

If you want to experience a free-flowing discourse devoid of limitation, you need to seek the darkest fringes of the Internet (and none of that anonymous bile can bleed back into proper society, because the interpretation always ends up being worse than the original sentiment).

It's creepy, but here we are, the Pilgrims, the crackpots of our time, trying to establish our own alternate reality. To build a world out of rocks and chaos. What it's going to be, I don't know. Even after all that rushing around, where we've ended up is the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. And maybe knowing isn't the point. Where we're standing right now, in the ruins in the dark, what we build could be anything.

There's a terrible dark joy when the only person who knows all your secrets is finally dead.

Not that I'm crazy or anything, I just want some proof that death isn't the end. Even if crazed zombies grabbed me in some dark hall one night, even if they tore me apart, at least that wouldn't be the absolute end. There would be some comfort in that.

There's a ter­ri­ble dark joy when the on­ly per­son who knows all your se­crets is fi­nal­ly dead. Your par­ents. Your doc­tor. Your ther­apist. Your case­work­er. The sun's out­side the bath­room win­dow try­ing to show us we're all be­ing stupid. All you have to do is look around.

Where I'm at is a big Episcopal church in downtown Newark, New Jersey, sitting in the dark while I try to rescue the doomed bits and pieces of life, in the hope that a mere story can become Noah's Ark and deliver all the living things of the past to a bright and glorious immortality?

In the workshop where I started to write fiction, you had to read your work in public. Most times, you read in a bar or coffeehouse where you'd be competing with the roar of the espresso machine. Or the football game on television. Music and drunk people talking. Against all this noise and distraction, only the most shocking, most physical, dark and funny stories got heard. Our test audience would never sit still for Barn-Raising Club.

At home, you'll sometimes wake up in your dark bed with the terror you've fallen asleep in the booth and missed a changeover.

You melt and swell at that moment. For that moment, nothing matters. Look up at the stars and you're gone. Not your luggage. Nothing matters. Not your bad breath. The windows are dark outside and the horns are blaring around you. The headlights are flashing high and low and high in your face, and you will never have to go to work again.

If I had a tumor, I'd name it Marla.

VADER LIVES.

As are all living things. All are caught in the river of power that is the Force, trapped by its currents. Only those who wield the dark side of the Force are capable of changing those currents; they are riverbreakers. They do not surrender to fate. They are its foes.) The

Creative agitation can serve you well. Embrace it. Look into that dark hole for answers, not fear.

Cold rain streaked the dark gray stone, trickling like tears down its smooth blank face.

Relationships are like a dance, with visible energy racing back and forth between the partners. Some relationships are the slow, dark dance of death.

They jostled one another, competed for space below as they did above, in a minuet of ruin and triumph. In the subway, down in the dark, no citizen was more significant or more decrepit than another. All were smeared into a common average of existence, the A's and the C's tumbling or rising to settle into a ruthless mediocrity. No escape.