Quotes About Fear

In his hand, Marc still had the Glock semi-automatic. Both of them knew what should happen next. The right choice, the expedient choice, was to put a bullet in this man's head and keep running. Marc kept running

In the 1890s the reform journalist E. L. Godkin alleged that Tammany leaders feared biography more than the penitentiary.

Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave.

The nation that complacently and fearfully allows its artists and writers to become suspected rather than respected is no longer regarded as a nation possessed with humor or depth.

You might as well fall flat on your face as lean over too far backward.

I hope I die in the night.

La muerte es la madre de la belleza. —¿Y qué es la belleza? —El terror.

El temor por nuestras propias vidas pudo habernos inducido a llevarlo al patíbulo y ponerle la soga al cuello, pero fue necesario un ímpetu más urgente que nos hiciera continuar y darle una patada a la silla.

Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. - The Secret History

I saw this at about three o'clock in the morning, alone in my apartment, on a black-and-white set with lots of interference. White noise and snow. He seemed to be speaking directly at me, right out of the television set. For a moment I was disoriented, seized by panic; could a ghost embody itself through wavelengths, electronic dots, a picture tube? What are the dead, anyway, but waves and energy? Light shining from a dead star?

animal in the sitter (a tendency that

unbearable claustrophobia of the soul

though some of those casual remarks and private jokes assumed a horrific significance much later. Towards the end of that term, for instance, Bunny had a maddening habit of breaking out into choruses of "The Farmer in the Dell"; I found it merely annoying and could not understand the violent agitation to which it provoked the rest of them: not knowing then, as I do now, that it must have chilled them all to the bone.

Beauty is terror. We want to be devoured by it, to hide ourselves in that fire which refines us.

Could it be because it reminds us that we are alive, of our mortality, of our individual souls – which, after all, we are too afraid to surrender but yet make us feel more miserable than any other thing? But isn't it also pain that often makes us most aware of self? Our own selves make us most unhappy, and that's why we're so anxious to lose them, don't you think?

Suddenly, I was struck by a horrible thought: is this what it's like? Is this the way it's going to be from now on?

Death is the mother of Beauty. And what is Beauty? Terror.

It could have been a foxhole in the Somme being shelled by the Germans and all that mattered was her next to me in the dark, her arm beside mine.

consumed by a more general sense of dread, of imprisonment within the dreary round of school and home: circumstances

And what is beauty?" "Terror.

the suddenness of the explosion had never left me, I was always looking for something to happen, always expecting it just out of the corner of my eye, certain configurations of people in public places could trigger it, a wartime urgency, someone cutting in front of me the wrong way or walking too fast at a particular angle was enough to throw me into tachycardia and trip-hammer panic, the kind that made me stumble for the nearest park bench;

Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the

It does not to do be frightened of things about which you know nothing,' he said. 'You are like children. Afraid of the dark.

Se penso, se mi figuro d'aver perso quest'occasione per paura o per comodo o per qualunque altro motivo, mi vengono i brividi.