Quotes About Horror

As he dropped the last grisly fragment of the dismembered and mutilated body into the small vat of nitric acid that was to devour every trace of the horrid evidence which might easily send him to the gallows, the man sank weakly into a chair and throwing his body forward upon his great, teak desk buried his face in his arms, breaking into dry, moaning sobs.

And the man rose and put a foot upon it and, raising his face to the heavens, voiced a horrid cry —the victory cry of the bull ape. Corrie was suddenly terrified of this man who had always seemed so civilized and cultured. Even the men were shocked. Suddenly recognition lighted the eyes of Jerry Lucas. John Clayton, he said, Lord Greystoke— Tarzan of the Apes! Shrimp's jaw dropped. Is dat Johnny Weissmuller? he demanded.

It was not a monster that lay sleeping on the white sheets. Nor a faceless horror. Nor even the white bear. It was a man. His hair was golden, glowing bright as a bonfire in the light of the candle. And his features were fair, I suppose, but he was a stranger and that somehow was the greatest shock of all- that I had been lying all these months beside a complete stranger.

It was all, in short, as natural and unnatural, as horrible, intolerable and unescapable, as if she had become young again, with all her desolate and unavoidable life stretching away ahead of her to—this.

There were moments of overwhelming lassitude, when, like the victim of some poison which leaves the brain clear, but holds the body motionless, she saw herself domesticated with the Horror, accepting its perpetual presence as one of the fixed conditions of life.

The very idea of the fabrication of a new government is enough to fill us with disgust and horror.

Yet can he neuer dye, but dying liues, And doth himselfe with sorrow new sustaine, That death and life attonce vnto him giues. And painefull pleasure turnes to pleasing paine. There dwels he euer, miserable swaine, Hatefull both to him selfe, and euery wight; Where he through priuy griefe, and horrour vaine, Is woxen so deform'd, that he has quight Forgot he was a man, and Gealosie is hight.

snick! snick! snick! "Lordy, this is fun!" After a lot more snickin', all them fingers'n toes'd been clipped right off, an' Dicky could see 'em sittin' there on the ground. Weren't much blood, though, on account'a how tight Balls'd tied the wrists'n ankles. "Lookit! The big dumb cracker's passin' out.

Morris chopped off the girl's hand with a hatchet then guttered laughter. The poor mulato wailed, her stump pumping. What'choo do that for! Cutton bellowed. He hadn't even gotten his trousers off before Morris had pulled this move.

Sartre, Kierkegaard, Heidegger: cool guys, smart, lotta meat between the ears on those fellas, and certainly trying to define who we are in the world or the universe is a noble undertaking. But isn't it somewhat as legitimate to try to define the reason why people do the horrible things they do? It's a fascinating query for me. It's a kick. Hence, my plight. I write horror.

John Wayne Gacy is obsessively fond of defending his innocence, which is imaginary. On March 12, 1980, he was convicted in Chicago of killing thirty-three boys. The murders took place between 1972 and 1978, when he was caught and arrested. No one else in America has ever been convicted of killing so many people. Twenty-seven of the bodies were buried in a crawl space beneath the house where Gacy lived,

Ella es una prueba más de que la libertad absoluta de la criatura humana es horrible.

Naked. Fatigue of the body transparent as a glass-tree. Near yourself you hear the brutal rumor of inextricable desire. Night blindly mine. You're farther gone than me. Horror of checking for you in the screams of my poem. Your name is the disease of things at midnight. They had promised me one silence. Your face is closer to me than my own. Phantom memory. How I'd love to kill you —

sin este sentir trágico y humorístico que me hace ser, ante los otros, un personaje genial o un horror erguido en dos piernas nada fácil de aguantar.

Horror of checking for you in the screams of my poem.

Yet weirdly, even as our societies have become more medicalized, our experience of death has turned more remote. Death itself is more horrifying and unthinkable than ever. Serious technologists now truly believe they will be able to cheat the reaper for all eternity by uploading their consciousnesses into the ether.

There is much to be said for the artwork that answers horror by rejecting or transcending it.

the kindred blood which flows in the veins of American citizens, the mingled blood which they have shed in defense of their sacred rights, consecrate their Union, and excite horror at the idea of their becoming aliens, rivals, enemies.

The meeting points the sacred hair disseverFrom the fair head, forever, and forever!Then flash'd the living lightning from her eyes,And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.

And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.   Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast,   When husbands, or when lapdogs breathe their last;   Or when rich China vessels fall'n from high,   In glitt'ring dust and painted fragments lie! 160

The cellar was straight off the set of a horror film. The floor was packed dirt and littered with the droppings of mice and rats. The worn stone walls were damp with a slick layer of mold. Even the air was heavy and filled with a dark sense of menace. It combined to create an atmosphere that would send most people fleeing in terror. But Edra was made of sterner stuff.

The name Maldoror, suggesting as it does evil, gold, horror, dawn, sadness etc., seems a curious hybrid, but on reading the work its full title, Les Chants de Maldoror par Le Comte de Lautreamont, seems to contain & imply the constant switches in narrative emphasis-the self as a game (je-jeu) & the author as observer, participant & invisible man-as well as being an inevitable & accurate condensation of, or hint at, the contents.

I actually watch 'The Walking Dead.' I like 'The Walking Dead' a lot.

I really feel like the horror genre is capable of so much. Especially as an in-theater experience, something you watch with other people. It can do so much.