Quotes About Macabre

A bloody hand had left its imprint on a lampshade. Squiggly marks slid down the wall, as if a child had been creating a macabre fingerpainting there. For some reason the image popped into Don's head of a teacher standing before a class, saying, Okay, kiddies, today we're going to fingerpaint. Everyone got paper and blood ready?

Other than a sign I saw once that said, 'Beware' in letters made of dead monkeys, the 'Lucky Smells Lumbermill' sign was the most disgusting sign on earth.

Some people say my work is often depressing and pessimistic, with the emphasis on death, blood, overcrowding, strange beings and so on, but I don't really think it is.

Working with Chaplin was very amusing and strange. His films are so funny, but working with him, I found him to be a very serious man. Whereas the films of Hitchcock are macabre, he could be a very funny man to work with, always telling jokes and holding court. Of course, when I worked with Charlie he was getting older.

There was blood on the painted feet, as though the thing had dripped--blood even on the hand that had not held the knife.

Blood and brain tissue clung to the wet rock like the refuse of a sad picnic.

each time I hear the bells toll the brief notes of the early hours of the morn, I imagine ghostly hands pulling rotting bell ropes. Or perhaps rotting hands pulling ghostly bell ropes; I don't know which image suits my macabre fancies this endless night. Fever

Lengths of gut are wound around both his arms, long strands of intestines, glistening and dripping. Along his legs several ears have been pinned to the fabric of his trousers.

I have supped full with horrors.

Emma was horrified and transfixed at the same time. She was watching Jonah Kinlock doing what he did best. There was a certain macabre beauty in watching form and function wedded together. In Jonah's case, a dance of beauty and death.

The living corpse went to the jars and began a hair-raising activity. Skillfully removing the spring-loaded cap from one and plunging its hand in, it extracted the dripping entrails, ripped open its sealed wound, and lovingly pushed inwards, shoving its intestines back into their rightful place.

Zombies smell worse than anything you can imagine if you haven't been hunting things on the dark side of the world. It's a ripe, gassy odour, like rotting eggs and meat gone bad, crawling blind with maggots. It's road kill and decayed food and body odour all rolled into one package and tied up with puke.

Within comedy, macabre is the root, and a lot of art - Goya, Bosch, Dali - is macabre. Even Van Gogh, if he paints a chair, there's an element of the macabre within it.

It was beautiful—in a terrible sort of way, of course. But still, the arrangement was perfect, compelling, beautifully bloodless.

And I hear something in the next room, and I sneak to the doorway and peek— The counter. There's a hand lying there. A human hand. But it's not attached to anything. This doesn't make sense. And right next to it that's a foot, also not attached. And other parts, too, and oh holy shit that's the head right there on top, eyes wide-open and looking right at me and all I can do is stare back— And

After I murder everyone in this room, I plan to eat them cannibal style and use their bones to build a scale model of a Viking longboat.

Thrifty, to think not only of eating the people you did not like, but eating them out of their own skull. The

Thrifty, to think not only of eating the people you did not like, but eating them out of their own skull.

like a scene from the swamps of Louisiana or the mind of Poe on opium.

For me, I would say that horror is my absolute favorite form of entertainment.

When I was young, my favorite picture book was 'Fletcher and Zenobia,' written by Edward Gorey and illustrated by Victoria Chess. It's long out of print now, but its mix of macabre humor and 1960s psychedelia made it a perfect children's book for the times.

Whatever had killed him, it hadn't been human. His face was gone, simply torn away. Something had ripped his lips off. I could see his bloodstained teeth. His nose had been torn all the way up one side, and part of it dangled toward the floor. His head was misshapen, as though some enormous pressure had been put upon his temples, warping his skull in.

Housed in the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, the following plate was completed in 1886, portraying the unusual subject of a skeleton smoking a cigarette. The work has roused many interpretations, including a depiction of mortality and a prophetic cry of the dangers of tobacco. In the next two years, van Gogh painted two other paintings with skulls, illustrating his fascination with the macabre subject.

I'm death obsessed. You know, I have death all over my house. I have a stuffed two headed sheep!