Quotes About Horror

He comes from the grave, his body a home of worms and filth. No life in his eyes, no warmth of his skin, no beating of his breast. His soul, as empty and dark as the night sky. He laughs at the blade, spits at the arrow, for they will not harm his flesh. For eternity, he will walk the earth, smelling the sweet blood of the living, feasting upon the bones of the damned. Beware, for he is the living dead. —OBSCURE HINDU TEXT, CIRCA 1000 B.C.E.

And then they came, right out of the smoke like a freakin' little kid's nightmare! Some were steaming, some were even still burning…some were walking, some crawling, some just dragging themselves along on their torn bellies…maybe one in twenty was still able to move, which left…shit…a couple thousand? And behind them, mixing with their ranks and pushing steadily toward us, the remaining million that the air strike hadn't even touched!

Then I heard him shout "They're running! Holy fuckin' shit, they're fast!" Fast zombies, that turned my gut. If they could run, they could climb, if they could climb, maybe they could think, and if they could think…now I was scared.

Zombie flesh isn't so bad.

Zombies, ghouls—no matter what their label—these somnambulists are the greatest threat to humanity, other than humanity itself.

Actually, it's scary. Scarier than Freddy Kruger and Jason put together.

And I like a good horror story as much as the next person so long as they kill off some men too and not just girls. But the voices Joan heard were real. There's clear and substantiated proof they were real.

Stuart Maxwell told me in a shaky voice that the first time Cheyenne picked him out as her victim for the kissing game, it had been like a nightmare as he'd found himself cornered by the circle of girls, only to see Cheyenne's lips coming closer and closer, until finally the smell of cranberry Kiehl's lip balm had overwhelmed him. 'And that's when,' Stuart told me in a horrified voice, 'I knew it was all over.

Grandma being possessed by a murderous demon from hell makes perfect sense to me

I don't like movies where people's heads spin around, or where things come bursting out of their stomachs. I like movies with beauty makeovers and dancing.

It is pretty creepy to look at. No wonder my grandfather died at such a young age. He probably had a heart attack looking at the THING beside him!" (Page 9)

Tendrils of fog crept along the cliffside we were climbing down, gathering thickly in the dips the trail made, swirling whenever I set my foot down in it, as if it were recoiling at the prospect of touching me. I tried not to think about movies I'd seen in which horrible things happened to people out in such heavy fog. You know the movies I'm talking about.

If you ever want to have a nightmare, come over to my house. Like, FOR REAL!" (Page 7)

And every camera in the room turned to focus on my horror-stricken, blood-drained face.

Yeah, in Zombie everything starts with a Z," said Webster.

If only wars could be won on the strength of the cheering when they begin, instead of the blood and the pain and the horror that feed the gods of discord.

You don't worry about them because they're too awful to contemplate worrying about.

everything written is at least in part fantasy. Except maybe the national budget. That's horror.

He held out the bottle. Clarice's hand was steady as she took it from him. It is poison , she thought distantly. It will kill her. She tried to be horrified at the thought, but she couldn't manage it.

I, ah … I suppose it's for the best. That you … aren't a boy, I mean. There was another, longer awkward pause. I … I'm glad you aren't a boy. Despite the danger, the horror, the utterly terrible ridiculousness of the situation, Clarice felt like laughing. Thank you, she said gravely. I'm glad I'm not a boy, too.

The puckered-up face of the newly-born child, old as the world, wise as the roots of trees. Sin was there and goodness, love, pity and horror, and even beauty for his eyes were pure violet.

There he was. The infant Titus. His eyes were open but he was quite still. The puckered-up face of the newly-born child, old as the world, wise as the roots of trees. Sin was there and goodness, love, pity and horror, and even beauty for his eyes were pure violet. Earth's passions, earth's griefs, earth's incongruous, ridiculous humours - dormant, yet visible in the wry pippin of a face.

Rottcodd was unmarried. An aloofness and even a nervousness was apparent on first acquaintance and the ladies held a peculiar horror for him. His, then, was an ideal existence, living alone day and night in a long loft. Yet occasionally, for one reason or another, a servant or a member of the household would make an unexpected appearance and startle him with some question appertaining to ritual, and then the dust would settle once more in the hall and on the soul of Mr. Rottcodd.

There he was. The infant Titus. His eyes were open but he was quite still. The puckered-up face of the newly-born child, old as the world, wise as the roots of trees. Sin was there and goodness, love, pity and horror, and even beauty for his eyes were pure violet. Earth's passions, earth's griefs, earth's incongruous, ridiculous humours – dormant, yet visible in the wry pippin of a face.