Quotes About Horror

Two figures joined the witch, a skull head and a pumpkin head.

He shook my dozing soul and threw the cold water of reality in my face, so that life and God and heaven and hell broke into my world with glory and horror. (on CS Lewis)

The horror of Hell is an echo of the infinite worth of God's glory.

God put the physical world under a curse so that the physical horrors we see around us in diseases and calamities would become a vivid picture of how horrible sin is. In other words, physical evil is a parable, a drama, a signpost pointing to the moral outrage of rebellion against God.

When you see carnage and "random" horror, hear the voice of God: "Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish" (Luke 13:3, 5).

All my life until that night, I'd never heard such a horrible and unforgettable sound. When I did, I woke with a start,

If things had started over a misunderstanding, some language barrier or even a dramatic physical difference, he might've forgiven some of the things they did. But the way they acted made it clear they not only didn't care about anyone else, but they also relished the horrors they committed. Is that how they keep score within their social structure?

Gavin leaned over the table. "Welcome to Cradle Bay High, Stevie boy. Welcome to my nightmare.

Her earnestness and apparent belief of what she narrated, excited the interest even of Aubrey; and often, as she told him the tale of the living vampyre, who had passed years amidst his friends, and dearest ties, forced every year, by feeding upon the life of a lovely female to prolong his existence for the ensuing months, his blood would run cold, whilst he attempted to laugh her out of such idle and horrible fantasies

But now the rest of the adjoining cotters rose in a body, and insisted on turning me out. Is it not strange, Sir, that this most horrible of all pestilences should deprive others, not only of natural feeling, but of reason? I could make no resistance although they had flung me over the dunghill, as they threatened to do; but the two women acted with great decision, and dared them to touch me or any one in their house.

It was the force of a public tragedy he felt, a horror and a woe so all-pervasive that private tragedies and personal misfortunes were removed to another state of being, yet were intensified by the very vastness in which they took place, as the poignancy of a lone grave might be intensified by a great desert surrounding it.

I don't recognise any of my emotions any more. There's no such thing as plain joy or grief. It's horror and relief and panic and gratitude all jumbled together.

Listening to the Rabbits talk about their operations was like watching a horror movie in a foreign language. You sort of hoped you'd misunderstood what was going on. And then when you figured out what was really going on, it was worse than you'd thought.

They eat everything alive. People, dogs, horses. Everything with flesh on it. So many of them crawling. Everywhere. Leaving the bones behind.

There are angels in Hell," the horror writer told him, "not just in Heaven. Indeed, the angels of Hell may be the more numerous.

Unlike Heldt, he'd been spared the endless horror that followed: the gas, the artillery, the grenades, and, most of all, the vast wasteland of barbed wire and landmines between the rat-infested trenches, where Lewis guns spat out death at five hundred rounds a minute, and flyblown corpses bloomed like roses.

The more horrifying this world becomes, the more art becomes abstract.

Essentially, boredom is centered upon time, on the horror of time, on the fear of time, the disclosure of time, the awareness of time. Those who are not aware of time passing do not get bored. It's not the time that passes, it's the time that doesn't pass.

We cannot elude existence by explanations, we can only endure it, love it or hate it, adore it or dread it, in that alternation of happiness and horror which expresses the very rhythm of being, its oscillations, its dissonances, its bright or bitter vehemences.

Man interests me only since he has ceased to believe in himself. Wile he was in his ascending phase, he deserved no more than indifference. Now he provokes a new sentiment, a special sympathy: compassionate horror.

It is this outer reach of existential abnegation – the moment where subjective identity deserts itself and becomes enslaved without consciousness of its subjugated condition – that Mirbeau consistently sought to decry with horror.

I have the sick fantasy that whatever I see at the movies is going to happen to me at home. My bladder capacity increased tenfold after I saw "The Shining" because I was sure that if I went into the bathroom late at night, there would be a dead woman in the bathtub.

There are two different kinds of terrorists. I think what happened in Las Vegas or in Texas shows we need to expand our definition of terrorism. In my mind these are incidents of terrorism, just as what happened in New York to those bikers. If the act is designed to kill people and instill fear in people's hearts it is terrorism.

For one thing, I was breathing more easily than I had been even yesterday. I was sick to death at the prospect of more suffocatingly lonely nights. The idea that they would be repeated, that was just how life was, made me shudder with horror. Still, having tasted for myself that moment when I suddenly could breathe easy again made my heart beat faster.