Quotes About Dread

She also wants the freedom to be able to act as she deems appropriate, without fearing or dreading the feedback, the sensing the disapproval and disappointment. Of always letting him down. Of having to check herself. She doesn't want any more cold air between them, but mostly she doesn't like to have to second-guess herself at a job that she knows she's more than capable of doing.

Steven awoke to his alarm ringing at seven a.m. Waking up, the first disappointment of every day, was as usual followed by its faithful friend, dread.

Do you sometimes wish you could fast-forward a week? You know something bad's coming up, and you know you'll get through it, but the prospect just makes you feel sick. I worried for about thirty minutes, and though I knew there was no point in doing so, I could feel my anxiety twisting me up in a knot. 'Bullshit,' I told myself stoutly. 'This is utter bullshit.

La verdad es que, durante nuestra vida, sólo tuvimos siempre miedo.

Her suspense was terrible.

You would think such a day would tremble to begin . . .

He was numb except for dreading the loss of numbness.

They (religions) dread the advance of science as witches do the approach of daylight and scowl on the fatal harbinger announcing the subversions of the duperies on which they live.

i poj?? z przera?eniem, ?e u kresu wszechrzeczy jest jedynie cia?o, k?y i pazury.

Every man becomes the image of the God he adores. He whose worship is directed to a dead thing becomes dead. He who loves corruption rots. He who loves a shadow becomes, himself, a shadow. He who loves things that must perish lives in dread of their perishing.

Existential dread] is the profound awareness that one is capable of ultimate bad faith with himself and with others: that one is living a lie.

Some of us are afraid of dying; others of human loneliness. Profane was afraid of land or seascapes like this, where nothing else lived but himself.

It also occurred to him, like a well-aimed kick to the head, that the idea of watching Rose marry anyone was something he looked forward to about as much as he would castration. Possibly less.

I wish I could explain it so someone could understand it. I'm afraid it's something I can't put into words. There's just this heavy, overwhelming despair - dreading everything. Dreading life. Empty inside, to the point of numbness. It's like there's something already dead inside. My whole being has been pulling back into that void for months.

Nightmares are the dress rehearsal for the dread awaiting.

Suspense is worse than disappointment.

This was a new menace that threatened them, something that they couldn't explain; and so, naturally, it aroused within them superstitious fear.

We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.

We are the fools of Time and Terror: Days Steal on us, and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.

She hissed, right there behind my ear, and I had the horrible idea she was spitting maggots into my hair. Why maggots were a problem when I was about to be dead, I didn't know, but the idea completely grossed me out. "In the womb I heard you die, for no one lives when a banshee cries." I wasn't just going to die. I was going to be rhymed to death. That simply wasn't fair.

Humanity is arming itself, in dread and fascinated horror, for a stupendous crime.

Where was it written that I, child of no one, deserved such joy? It only happened at night, this abyss of dread, never during the day. Only in the empty hours between today and yesterday, when I was alone with my sleeping lover and the weight of the past crept upon me like a reproachful ghost.

With what dread and apprehension we entrust important jobs into the hands of others. Imagine the love of a needless God who is willing to want our work.

The calm before the storm that might carry us all before it.