Quotes About Horror

She was crying for all of it at last—for the pain and loss and fear and anger, for the war and what it had done to her and to all of them, for the knowledge of evil she could never shake, for the horror of where she'd been and what she'd done to survive.

She'd rather have nightmares about Randall Flagg or Carrie or Jack Torrance than about her own past.

Pagaliau Izabel? pratr?ko verkti išraudodama visk?-skausm?,netekt?,baim? ir pykt?, kar?, tai,k? jis padar? jai, k? padar? jiems visiems, blogio pažinim?,kurio jau niekada nebenusikratys, stovykloje patirt? siaub? ir pastang? išgyventi klaikum?.

Mouse sandwiches and open graves?" Meredith arched an elegant eyebrow. "I think you're getting Stephen King mixed up with Lewis Carroll.

He could not forget the past, and he didn't really wish to. Despite everything that had happened, he cherished Katherine's memory. But there was one memory he must truly not disturb, one page of the journal he must not turn. If he had to relive that horror, that… abomination, he would go mad. As he had been mad that day, that final day, when he had looked upon his own damnation.

All of this cuteness, it was one of nature's great bait and switches, because... that wasn't all there was to Zuzana Nováková. Not even a little bit. Deciding to take her on was akin to a fish deciding idly to gobble up that pretty light bobbing in the shadows and then--OH GOD THE TEETH THE HORROR!--meeting the anglerfish on the other side.

The terror-the terror, the terror-lingered, and there was something else. It came with the dream, every time, and didn't recede with it but stayed like something a tide had washed in. Something awful-a rank leviathan corpse left to rot on the shore of her mind. It was remorse. But god, that was too bloodless a word for it,. This feeling the dream left her with, it was knives of panic and horror resting bright atop a red and meaty wound-fester of guilt.

What Chinese identity?" Ming shouts. To his horror, she looks, again, like a little girl. He sees her at six years old, standing on the playground, watching the sun shine on the blond hair of her classmates. He can't stand it. Even though he's been there, is familiar with the origins of self-hatred, knows he can't bear it because it reminds him of himself, he can't speak to her any more. He puts his headphones on and turns up the sound.

I love horror, I love scary movies, I love thrillers. If things creep you out and spook you? I love it.

It's your gift, to see the beauty and the horror in ordinary things. It doesn't make you crazy, just different.

Who's there?" he called, then frowned. "Of course," he added, addressing the darkness all around, "even I, as a Shadowhunter, have seen enough movies to know that anyone who yells 'Who's there?' is going to be instantly killed.

And I behold London, a Human awful wonder of God' He (Will) stared out over the landscape. "Milton thought Hell was a city, you know. I think maybe he had it half-right. Perhaps London is just Hell's entrance, and we are th damned souls refusing to pass through, fearing that what we will find on the other side will be worse than the horror we already know.

Clary, you're an artist, like your mother. That means you see the world in ways that other people don't. It's your gift, to see the beauty and the horror in ordinary things. It doesn't make you crazy — just different. There's nothing wrong with being different.

What would you prefer? 'What did the Count eat today, children? One helpless villager, two helpless villagers, three helpless villagers….

Feeling this way was a particular kind of horror, having the emotions without the memories.

Horror, for me, has to involve some sort of fantasy. Horror is something that is in your dreams or your nightmares.

Although Elizabeth had a horror of being embalmed and directed her remains to be wrapped up in cerecloth (waxed linen), sources suggest she probably was embalmed, as this was standard practice for royalty at the time.

It's a fairy tale. A children's story. Not a funny or silly one, but one with blood and death and horror, because that's fairy tales, too. A kid got swallowed by a whale. A little Pinocchio. A little Caliban. It's all there. And, you know, in a fairy tale, the maidens are never dead - not really. They're just sleeping.

Of course, my children were horrified that Oskar had been abused, although they weren't wholly surprised. Having grown up with fostering, they could often spot the signs when a child was harbouring a dark secret, just as I could. Fostering had taught us that evil things do happen and they're not just horror stories in the news.

Death was not eternal; Death was the only true mortal God ever created. It is no wonder we stare in horror at it ...

before humanity chokes (or basks) in the dungeon (or paradise) of a Western-centered global empire or of an East Asian-centered world-market society, "it might well burn up in the horrors (or glories) of the escalating violence that has accompanied the liquidation of the Cold War world order.

the great Dutch Protestant theologian W. A. Visser 't Hooft suggested, which I suspect applies to many people including–to a large degree–Speer: that "people cannot find a place in their consciousness . . . their imagination . . . or finally have the courage to face (or allow themselves to remember) unimaginable horror. It is possible," he said, "to live in a twilight between knowing and not knowing.

Thus she's discovered the Conradian truth: The first horror is there's horror. The second is you accommodate it...You do what you do because it's that or death.

The Russian drove. New York turned in his seat to make sure I wasn't peeking. He should have been a surfer. His face was full of masculine prettiness and immensely likeable. Which, by horror's law of inverted aesthetics, made me sure we were being taken to our deaths.