Quotes About Dread

Perhaps because waiting for an inevitable disaster is worse than the disaster itself.

But risk perception may not be about quantifiable risk so much as it is about immeasurable fear.

Its skin was ash-gray, darkened by patches of sickly red. Its semihuman features were strangely elongated, as if its head had been stretched top to bottom. Strands of greasy hair were strung across its mottled pate. Its nose was like a pit. Its cheeks were deeply sunken. Its mouth gaped open, the sharp teeth gleaming within. It would have almost seemed the face of a dead and rotting thing except that the eyes were sparkling with an eager, living cruelty.

Everything drains from my body. There's no thrill of being right. It's just an overwhelming sense of dread.

The only thing which exists, which counts, which still has any meaning, is fear.

as if the next thing must quickly come along to occupy her, or the abyss might open. What abyss? The abyss that waits for all of us, when all our actions seem futile, when the ability to fill the day seems stalled, and the waiting takes on an edge of dread.

Where there is no imagination there is no horror.

I live in dread that I might find myself in some sort of emergency, and everyone will turn to me and expect me to know what the correct procedures are.

Maybe this is pathetic, but I still dread producing a book that doesn't earn back its advance. I hate obligations that are financially foggy.

Fear has many faces.

I read Gide's 'The Immoralist' over and over as a teenager. I was obsessed with it. It's written with such simplicity and dread, and the desert, the shabby colonial world, is brought right into your consciousness without being over-explained.

I dreaded the dance scene in 'Love Actually' more than having my teeth extracted.

Damned be the dark ends of the earth where old horrors live again.

It is good that war is so horrible, or we might grow to like it.

It is not dying but deadness we should fear.

Over time, he'd come to understand that in some dark corner of his mind, he'd been dreading and half-expecting the news. The ax had fallen at last, suspense was forever over . . .

Even though he'd been craving solitude for the past ten days, the prospect of his silent attic room was cheerless, after these long days of dread and loss.

Everyday things became so strange, when you were waiting for something dreadful to happen. Her heart was pounding fast.

Strike could hear his own heart beating with ominous force, like a kettle drum deep inside a cave. Red-hot threads of panic and dread darted through him.

Hospitals were for me quite suddenly no longer places of dread to be avoided but secular cathedrals of the humanist spirit, worthy of celebration.

You do see me crossing the meadow stiff and dead from the mist? I long for that home, that home I've never had, and without any hope that I'll ever be able to reach it. For such a home, never touched, I carry that longing that will never die, like that meadow dies stiff and dead from the mist. You do see me crossing it, full of dread?

imagina como es saber que algo horrible va a pasar pero no saber cuando

I observed the signs of impending doom

Terror. That was it.