Quotes About Horror

Carrie Fay always says that nothing is really horrible unless it eats away your face.

Nora's startled intake of breath quickly followed, her eyes huge with horror behind her glasses. "Aisling! Dear god. What have you done?" "You know that badass demon lord who was after her blood?" Jim asked. Nora didn't back up the way Drake's mother did, but she did wrap her arms around herself, as if in protection. She nodded. "Well, guess whose ass is the baddest now?

Blanky. Such an innocuous name for something that had now cemented itself as the locus of my grief and horror and rage.

full of dolls with babyfingers for eyes

I am twelve, John is nine, and we have not yet learned of death. Pain and horror, however, are kindred. They visit us nightly, and take away little pieces of our soul. We live in nightmare and escape during daylight.

All he will ever retain from however long he spends in that other place—and it's an eternity—will be fragments of horrors, so garish and alien it is impossible for his mind to put them together into any kind of sense or order, but they will be enough to compound the seriousness of the situation in which he has found himself.

Some of the time it feels as if we're just here to bear witness to the acts of monsters. To validate their efforts by seeing what they've done.

Then the image came back into his head. His wife Mary, pinned to the ceiling, blood pooling outward from her stomach, fire surrounding and consuming her.

He did not understand her. They were not the same. The garage, the trial, the old man with his head in his hands--his mother, struggling to breathe--those things were horrors. The mess under Layla's clothes was a game and he hated her for making a part of it, for ever coming near him.

Our national drug is alcohol. We tend to regard the use of any other drug with special horror.

She hissed, right there behind my ear, and I had the horrible idea she was spitting maggots into my hair. Why maggots were a problem when I was about to be dead, I didn't know, but the idea completely grossed me out. "In the womb I heard you die, for no one lives when a banshee cries." I wasn't just going to die. I was going to be rhymed to death. That simply wasn't fair.

Humanity is arming itself, in dread and fascinated horror, for a stupendous crime.

The headless trunk was discovered impaled on a metal fencepost on the edge of the town park.

For the next few minutes, time stood still and Cassie was transported into a real-life version of hell. Even as she watched it, she knew she'd never be able to scrub the images from her mind for the rest of her life. She had to remind herself to breathe.

This is not our home. We can turn away and leave it to the skaven. We can abandon our brothers to slavery and atrocity at the paws of these beasts. We can go crawling back to Middenland. And when the skaven again come, when they bring this great horror against our homes, who will there be to stand with us? Who will help us fight? No, it is here we make our stand. A man can die but once. Do we die on our feet or on our knees?

Every evening for weeks, Amina and the several other Ethiopians who lived in the building by then crowded into my flat to watch in horror as a parade of bodies on the verge of crumbling into dust crawled across the screen. We were sickened with ourselves for being riveted by the spectacle of this death march. We were ashes to ashes fascinated by this movement, heaven bound invariably, for there is no hell anymore when it has arrived here on earth.

I had read essays describing the horrors of genocide committed during the Chinese Cultural Revolution. I had lectured on Jewish literature detailing the atrocities carried out by Hitler. I had read the words in my head but never comprehended their depth in my heart—until I lived them. Only later would I realize that there are no words harsh enough, no paragraphs wide enough, no books deep enough to convey the weight of true human sorrow.

What has survived of Garfield, however, is far more powerful than a portrait, a statue, or even the fragment of his spine that tells the tragic story of his assassination. The horror and senselessness of his death, and the wasted promise of his life, brought tremendous change to the country he loved - change that, had it come earlier, almost certainly would have spared his life.

But it seems to me to be an imperfection in things of beauty, and a weakness in man, if an explanation from the shallow-side has a destructive effect. The horror which we feel for Freudian interpretations is entirely due to our own barbaric or childish naivete, which believes that there can be heights without corresponding depths, and which blinds us to the really "final" truth that, when carried to extremes, opposites meet.

Mostly, she tried to get on with her life, even as she carried around her loss and her horror. The lesson she took from River's death was to be more selfish: since life is fleeting, don't waste it with the wrong people.

head lulled to one side, a trickle of blood dripped down the front of her dress, and her eyes stared at the ceiling, wide and unseeing. And totally dead.

My Zombie Ate Your Honor Student

On the other side of that coin, and far outweighing it, is the fact that I've been able to use genre of Fantasy/Horror and express my opinion, talk a little about society, do a little bit of satire and that's been great, man. A lot of people don't have that platform.

When I was old enough to go to movies alone, I got to see 'Frankenstein' and 'Dracula' on the big screen. I just fell in love with them.