Quotes About Horror

This inhuman place makes human monsters.

oh shit it's shit

Want a balloon?

The monster nevers dies.

I started after him...and the clown looked back. I saw Its eyes, and all at once I understood who It was. Who was it, Don? Harold Gardner asked softly. It was Derry, Don Hagarty said. It was this town.

I try to create sympathy for my characters, then turn the monsters loose.

stop now before i kill you a word to the wise from your friend PENNYWISE

Stephen King

I am, he thought dimly, watching a vampire take a piss.

Creepy as hell. You ever see that TV movie about the clown in the sewer?

There are things of such darkness and horror—just, I suppose, as there are things of such great beauty—that they will not fit through the puny human doors of perception.

The scariest, most terrifying thing that I fear?' - Yes. - My Imagination. - I thought you were going to say Fear, itself. - Then you have a small imagination.

But a spider was, after all, only a spider. Perhaps at the end, when the masks of horror were laid aside, there was nothing with which the human mind could not cope.

They float, they all float... and when you're down here with me, fat boy, you'll float too.

They'll float, it growled, they float, Georgie, and when you're down here with me, you'll float, too-

Bool! The end.

Back in the main corridor—what Luke now understood to be the residents' wing—the little girls, Gerda and Greta, were standing and watching with wide, frightened eyes. They were holding hands and clutching dolls as identical as they were. They reminded Luke of twins in some old horror movie.

The horrors of the Inquisition are nothing compared to the fates your mind can imagine for your loved ones.

The reason authors almost always put a dedication on a book is, because their selfishness even horrifies themselves in the end.

Then, as understanding began to trickle through his shock, he felt an escalating sense of horror. It had finally happened; he had finally lost enough of his mind so that other people would be able to *tell*.

I discovered news of old horrors in old books; read intelligence of old atrocities in old periodicals; always in the back of my mind, every day a bit louder, I heard the seashell drone of some growing, coalescing force; I seemed to smell the bitter ozone aroma of lightings-to-come.

Even a zombie lurching through the night can seem pretty cheerful compared to the existential comedy/horror of the ozone layer dissolving under the combined assault of a million fluorocarbon spray cans of deodorant.

as if the cops expected the big gray sedan to start up by itself, like that old Plymouth in the horror movie

Thank God for tunnel vision. Thank God for selective perception. Because without it, we might as well all be in a Lovecraft story.