Quotes About Fear

that she was suffering from a brain tumor. It was temporarily under control, but she expected it would eventually kill her. She

about the German boy's throat and tried to strangle him and to stop another dreadful cry. The second officer made haste. He thrust his revolver close to the

Fear can keep you up all night, but faith makes one fine pillow.

The fear of decadence is the fear – and fascination – of the other. It is a fantasy fear of letting go, of the abandonment of principle. In that it is an essentially middle-class fear, for the upper classes with their privilege – literally, private law – were answerable to no one, while the working class were both expendable and by tradition prone to vice

If I had known it was harmless I would have killed it myself.

Fear can make you do more wrong than hate or jealousy... fear makes you always, always hold something back.

We are all insects. Groping towards something terrible or divine.

How'd you like to gaze at a beer can throughout eternity? It might not be so bad. There'd be nothing to fear.

The most dangerous kind of person... is one who is afraid of his own shadow.

I mean, knowing people, people are terrified of the unknown and they want to just kill the unknown.

Whatever you fear will happen to you, booze will make it happen.

We're blind moles. Creeping through the soil, feeling with our snoots. We know nothing. I perceived this . . . now I don't know where to go. Screech with fear, only. Run away.

And, as I watched the Lincoln come by degrees to a relationship with what it saw, I understood something: the basis of life is not a greed to exist, not a desire of any kind. It's fear, the fear which I saw here. And not even fear: much worse. Absolute dread. Paralyzing dread so great as to produce apathy.

But reality really is a mess, and yet it's exciting. The basic thing is, how frightened are you of chaos? And how happy are you with order? Van Vogt influenced me so much because he made me appreciate a mysterious chaotic quality in the universe which is not to be feared.

If you are wise, Matson said to himself grimly, you never take one-way trips. Anywhere. Even to Boise, Idaho...even across the street. Be certain, when you start, that you can scramble back.

My father told me what it used to feel like, waiting in the dentist's office. Every time the nurse opened the door you thought, It's happening. The thing I've been afraid of all my life.

Please don't continually say I'm paranoid. Why? It makes me paranoid.

It horrified him, this thought: the ancient gigantic cannibal near-man flourishing now, ruling the world once more. We spent a million years escaping him, Frink thought, and now he's back. And not merely as the adversary . . . but as the master.

Era come se avessi tremato per tutta la vita, a causa di una cronica corrente sotterranea di paura. Tremare, scappare, finire nei guai, perdere le persone che amavo. Come un personaggio dei cartoni animati invece di una persona, mi resi conto. Un cartone animato degli anni Trenta, ammuffito. Dietro a tutto quello che avevo fatto c'era sempre stata la paura di spingermi.

After her initial fear had diminished, something else had begun to emerge from her. Something more strange. And, he thought, deplorable. A coldness. Like, he thought, a breath from the vacuum between inhabited worlds, in fact from nowhere: it was not what she did or said but what she did not do and say. "Some other time," the girl said, and moved back toward her apartment door.

To my surprise I realized that I had stopped shaking. It was as if I had been shaking all my life, from a chronic undercurrent of fear.

Secretaries, he thought acidly, read that junk, at home alone in bed at night. It stimulates them. Instead of the real thing. Which they're afraid of. But of course really crave.

The door, meagerly, opened and he saw within the apartment a fragmented and misaligned shrinking figure, a girl who cringed and slunk away and yet held onto the door, as if for physical support. Fear made her seem ill; it distorted her body lines, made her appear as if someone had broken her and then, with malice, patched her together badly.

Jack thought, And people talk about mental illness as an escape! He shuddered. It was no escape; it was a narrowing, a contracting of life into, at last, a moldering, dank tomb, a place where nothing came or went; a place of total death.