Quotes About Fear

logic, that's the appeal to fear. Make people afraid of something and you can make them do what you want.

Beauty is terror" he said "Whatever we call beautiful we quiver before it

There was a horrible, erratic thumping in my chest, as if a large bird was trapped inside my ribcage and beating itself to death.

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

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

It was like waking from a nightmare to a worse nightmare.

And besides, is death really so terrible a thing? It seems terrible to you, because you are young, but who is to say he is not better off now than you are? Or—if death is a journey to another place—that you will not see him again?" He opened his lexicon and began to search for his place. "It does not do to be frightened of things about which you know nothing," he said. "You are like children. Afraid of the dark.

It does not do to be frightened of things about which you know nothing.

I felt I understood the secret grandeur of dying, all the knowledge held back from all humankind until the very end: no pain, no fear, magnificent detachment, lying in state upon the death barge and receding into the grand immensities like an emperor, gone, gone, observing all the distant scurryers on shore, freed from all the old human pettiness of love and fear and grief and death.

Mine, mine. Fear, idolatry, hoarding. The delight and terror of the fetishist.

Horrific as it was, the present dark, I was afraid to leave it for the other, permanent dark – jelly and bloat, the muddy pit. I had seen the shadow of it on Bunny's face – stupid terror; the whole world opening upside down; his life exploding in a thunder of crows and the sky expanding empty over his stomach like a white ocean. Then nothing. Rotten stumps, sowbugs crawling in the fallen leaves. Dirt and dark.

and yet, whenever he started with the questions I froze stiff, as if I'd been pushed onstage in a play where I didn't know the lines.

La morte è la madre della bellezza» disse Henry. «E cos'è la bellezza?» «Terrore.»

A month or two before, I would have been appalled at the idea of any murder at all. But that Sunday afternoon, as I actually stood watching one, it seemed the easiest thing in the world. How quickly he fell; how soon it was over.

I would be less frightened of death (not just my own death but Welty's death, Andy's death, Death in general) if I thought a familiar person came to meet us at the door

beauty is terror. whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it

Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before

is death really so terrible a thing?

in whatever wink of consciousness that remained to me I felt I understood the secret grandeur of dying, all the knowledge held back from all humankind until the very end: no pain, no fear, magnificent detachment, lying in state upon the death barge and receding into the grand immensities like an emperor, gone, gone, observing all the distant scurryers on shore, freed from all the old human pettiness of love and fear and grief and death.

And what is beauty? Terror. And if beauty is terror, then what is desire? To live. To live forever.

Maybe it's stupid to even articulate such hopes. But, then again, maybe it's more stupid not to.

Stay away from the ones you love too much. Those are the ones who will kill you

Every time I thought of it my stomach squirmed, so that my first instinct was to slam the lid down hard and think of something else.

La belleza es terror. Temblamos ante todo lo que llamamos bello.