Quotes about ghosts

It was haunted but real hauntings have nothing to do with ghosts finally they have to do with the menace of memory.

Crook your finger they’ll come closer. Pull the covers tighter to your chin in beside you they’ll creep.

I write for ghosts the ghosts I can’t see but I know stick around. Some I know are good. Others I know are bad. The first bring me nostalgic comfort while the latter instill unease.

The mirror had no power. The mirror was just a piece of silvered glass the enchantment was all in me.

Ghosts have a way of misleading you they can make your thoughts as heavy as branches after a storm.

I love ghosts I prefer ghosts to some people.

We who are beyond the mortal world see many things from the edges we hear the subtle shifts of rhythm in the beat of a blackening heart.

We live forever but they don't come back.

You are such a wolf.”“When it comes to you? Absolutely.

Well, well, well. Tickle my Elmo ass silly. I was sitting across from a person who enjoyed talking to dead people, and if they wouldn’t talk, then by God, he’d just wake their corpses up instead. Next to him was a moody, chain-smoking vampire who just might be bipolar and smoked like a corncob pipe.

The whispers you hear in your ear that you fear in the air everywhere,they are ghosts.The moans and the groans in the lowest of tones no one owns or condones, they are ghosts.You might deem them gremlins or water or wind,while others say shadows or rodents or sin.But oh! I say no! ‘Tis not so, child, for lo!The chills that you feel in a thrill that proves goose bumps are frightfully real,they are ghosts!

The only way, I thought to myself, that this could get any weirder would be if it turns out he has that dead body's head on ice where in the basement, some ready for transplantation onto Cindy Crawford's body as soon as it becomes available.

I lost my temper," I finish. "I lost my temper. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.""Well, no one means to lose their temper, my boy," the Captain smiles. "If they did, it wouldn't be lost.

And I want to kiss you every day, but not just because I'm saying goodbye.

Behind a barbed-wire fence, a dirt road disappears into the distance in the pine trees and corners. Lost, dead roads, no ends or remaining purposes, power lines now dead and sagging and forgotten, grown high in weeds and young trees. The trees have entirely encased a speed limit sign, strange sight, nothing so pointless as a speed limit sign in the midst of dense woods, pointless and beautifully so.

I mean,” her mother paused to choose her words, “maybe you’ll get involved in some school related activities, or join a team, or maybe meet a nice boy.”“Ugh,” Keely groaned, “I don’t have time for that stuff mom. We’ve talked about this.”“Because of the little ghost...searching…thingy you and Tad do?” “It’s called paranormal investigation mom.”“It’s called being antisocial.

Like most people, my views about ghosts and haunted places were traditional while growing up. I believed ghosts were human spirits. Not that I talked to many people about the subject or my experiences. I assumed people would think I was weird.

At least that left hope for him. Except "Beauty and the Geek" wasn’t exactly the proper translation of the popular fairy tale.

Maybe pulling her emotions out and inserting in his logic would change this morbid course. But damn if he’d joke about it like she did.

This was sharing office space with wacko and bordering on ludicrous.

I wish my talent was something that could be celebrated. You see, I can talk to the dead.

It took a pair of ghosts to open my eyes.

Calm down. Ghosts don’t ring the doorbell.

But soon the poltergeist ran out of ideas in connection with Aunt Maud and became, as it were, more eclectic. All the banal motions that objects are limited to in such cases, were gone through in this one. Saucepans crashed in the kitchen; a snowball was found (perhaps, prematurely) in the icebox; once or twice Sybil saw a plate sail by like a discus and land safely on the sofa; lamps kept lighting up in various parts of the house; chairs waddled away to assemble in the impassable pantry; myster

Live from a place of love. It conquers all that is evil.

The terms we use for what is considered supernatural are woefully inadequate. Beyond such terms as ghost, specter, poltergeist, angel, devil, or spirit, might there not be something more our purposeful blindness has prevented us from understanding?We accept the fact that there may be other worlds out in space, but might there not be other worlds here? Other worlds, in other dimensions, coexistent with this? If there are other worlds parallel to ours, are all the doors closed? Or does one, here o

Many people, after spending a long weekend being stealthily seduced by this grand dame of the South, mistakenly think that they have gotten to know her: they believe (in error) that after a long stroll amongst the rustling palmettoes and gas lamps, a couple of sumptuous meals, and a tour or two, that they have discovered everything there is to know about this seemingly genteel, elegant city. But like any great seductress, Charleston presents a careful veneer of half-truths and outright fabricati

I began to doubt that I would ever know the truth of what transpired, or who those people really were. But all that changed one rainy August afternoon, when I was surprised by a dead man who had answers.

98% of reported hauntings have a natural and mundane explanation … it is the other 2% that have interested me for over 40 years.

Every town has ‘THAT house’: the one that once held dark secrets. You know the house… the one no one will purchase? The one whose walls have seen blood? The one that even birds avoid, and the darkened windows resemble empty eye sockets? There are furtive, yet insistent, whispers about ‘that’ house, murmurs that perhaps the house is best left alone, lest the dark stain left upon that abode’s history seep into our own present-day.

There is a unique bond between the land and the people in the Crescent City. Everyone here came from somewhere else, the muddy brown current of life prying them loose from their homeland and sweeping them downstream, bumping and scraping, until they got caught by the horseshoe bend that is New Orleans. Not so much as a single pebble ‘came’ from New Orleans, any more than any of the people did. Every grain of sand, every rock, every drip of brown mud, and every single person walking, living and l

Michael had learned the hard way that nothing good came from interfering in the affairs of the afterlife.

..., imagine a loamy earth that starts with genocide, then adds a mix of further disease, wars, hurricanes, murder, great fires, dueling, insurrection and slavery, just to name a few of the many instances of tragedy. What dark seed would take root in such a disturbed and twisted soil?

They’d never scared him, really.  When he was younger, he hadn’t known that there was anything different about them.  By the time he was old enough to figure out that no one else could see them, he was also old enough to realize that being dead didn’t turn people into monsters.  It just meant that most of them were lonely. 

When a thundering horde of drunken Vikings rush a person, it's only natural to flinch.

The fact that ghosts are real doesn't surprise me-I've always been a believer in that area. It's the realization that there may be something out there, something most can't see, that is able to kill.

It seems I can go from elated, embarrassed, angry, and back to embarrassed in four comments flat.

So you know you're a ghost?" I looked at my hands; they were transparent and glowed faintly. "Can you think of another explanation?

She had yet to actually call him by his real name. The psychologist in him had all kinds of theories as to why. The man in him wanted to hear her say it. Just once.

Hauntingly active as they share space with the living, the dead refuse to give up their undead residency.

Hey, ghosts are nothing to laugh at! Whether or not you believe in them, they’re out there. I’ve seen them. I’ve even heard them.

The spirits of the dead are not among us to entertain us... Assuming the revenants you encounter have simply signed up to play haunted house for the amusement of the living is just plain ignorant.

There are reasons why it is often difficult to reach our dead. When we do, our lives and everything we believe to be true can be turned entirely upside down.

Sometimes we just have to accept the fact we can't explain everything. Life happens, whether we want it to or not and we don't always have a reason why. Our job is to try and make some good come out of it.

If your spirit is persistently harmless or if it has shown itself to you, in a non-threatening way, then you most definitely have a ghost. The ghost can be frightening, by its very nature. But the ghost will never intentionally frighten you. They will be there for three reasons: 1. They used to live there and are attached to the location 2. They are trying to communicate something to the living or 3. They are protective of somebody who lives in the house and so they are “standing guard” so to sp

When you write it, don't write it in the manner of a spooky story. Don't try to give an explanation. Just say that I don't know what to make of it, just write it like I tell it, so the reader can make up his own mind.

The grass is full of ghosts tonight.' 'The whole campus is alive with them.' They paused by Little and watched the moon rise, to make silver of the slate roof of Dodd and blue the rustling trees. 'You know,' whispered Tom, 'what we feel now is the sense of all the gorgeous youth that has rioted through here in two hundred years.

Because every story is a ghost story, even mine.

I was facing him before the last word was out, but I should have been dead by then. In a way I did die, right there, all that time ago, and this is a ghost who has been telling you stories and drinking your wine. You don't understand. Never mind.

But this isn't a ghost story: the ghost is in the background, where she has to be. If she was in the foreground she'd be a person.

And no, I think i'm better than you because I am better than you.

By and large, the mission of any ghost is to offer humility. They point out what's important by mocking what is not.(Joshua Malina, Sports Night)

The summer I turned eleven, I found out that ghosts are real. Guess it's hard to rest nice and easy in your coffin if you got stuff on your mind. Your soul stays chained to earth instead of zipping up to heaven to sing in one of the angel choirs. Sometimes ghosts show up in the msot peculiar places. Sometimes ghosts fool you. Then you are those ghosts that hang around because we have unfinished business. Business that sinks like old crawfish left in a bucket for a week. That's some nasty smell l

A city obsessed by its ghosts seems to be weighted down by a conflicted view of the past. Something close to melancholy: a weight it can't quite let go of, a lingering sadness. And though we don't often think of the United States in these terms, this melancholy is as much a part of our history as our triumphs.

I'd say we're all just ghosts on a wire seeking the prick of an electric thought.

Because I seeA rainstorm in JuneJust before the sunThe black of nightJust before the starsAnd, girl, I see your ghostJust before our dawn

Areila walked like she had somewhere to go. I stood by the fountain and watched her pass, but I didn't speak. It was the lady's prerogative to pretend she didn't see me. She got to the edge of the park; I swear, her foot hovered right over the line, when she turned with military precision and marched back. She stopped in front of me and said, "Hello.

Ghosts... they are the completions of the deads intended gestures, there unfinished plans still hanging in the air - something like when you forgot one thing and so you pantomime the motion.

Don't tell me how to grieve. Don't tell me ghosts fade away eventually, like they do in movies, waving goodbye with see-through hands. Lots of things fade away but ghosts like these don't, heartbreak like these doesn't.

He stared at her, knowing with certainty thathe was falling in love. He looked the other way, Her face triggered through his heart, forcing him to look back, and admire that beauty!!Soon He pulled her close andkissed her beneath a blanket of stars,wondering how on earth he'd been luckyenough to find her... Wait it was morning, the dream was actually over !!

The flame of the inn is dim tonight,Too many vacant chairs.The sun has lost too much of its light,Too many songs have taken flight,Too many ghosts on the stairs.Charon, here's to you as man against man,I wish I could pick 'em the way you can!

At first I wasn’t all that tempted by him, but then he killed the spider. Which was a huge point in his favor.” “Absolutely. I love men who kill bugs.” “And then when I was freaking out and couldn’t breathe, he was so…gentle.” Zoe sighed and colored, remembering. “He was holding me, and talking to me in that voice…you know, sort of low and rough around the edges…” “All the Nolans sound like that,” Justine said reflectively. “Like they’ve got a mild case of bronchitis. Totally hot.

The Goddess spoke to all the dead. She was beloved for it. It seemed she passed on that gift to you. Oh, it taxed her immensely, but she tried to set as many to rest as she could. Sometimes it only takes one word of kindness, you know, to set a soul at ease.

Never invite any kind of spirit to enter either your home or your person. This is an extremely important point to remember. To do so always risks to unwittingly invite evil spirits in, instead. Good spirits never need to be invited in.

How do you weigh a soul?Is it heavy with love or hate?Does it deny the things it's done?Does it even remember its own name?Does it miss those it has loved?Does it long for the life it's lost?How do you weigh a soul?After it has paid the highest cost,Does it lose the will to live?Without a physical shellDoes it sense without handsThat can touch and truly feelDoes it need sustenance to last?A cold drink or warm mealHow do you weigh a soul?Are souls even real?

Magic is magic. It isn’t good or bad in and of itself. It’s the intent that matters. Ideally, you treat magic as a gift and you use it to influence natural forces to help and to heal. It’s a positive act.

Whether I'm a good wife doesn't have anything to do with what he was like.

In the ghost house in the last days of the accident season, we were never going to die.

Hello?” I ask. No one is there. Not a word. Not a whisper. Not a single sound resonating from the other side of the receiver. “Hello? Anyone there?” I ask again. Repeating myself. I am beginning to feel rather anxious now. Scared, would be a better word to use. Shivers have begun to creep up my spinal cord, and I can feel the urgency of goose pimples begin to line up on by frightened pale skin.

I wouldn't describe myself as lacking in confidence, but I would just say that - the ghosts you chase you never catch.

Whiteness of moonlight builds a house that is not there

Imagine a place where the dead rest on shelves like books.

This is what the Problem means,” he went on. “This is the effect it has. Lives lost, loved ones taken before their time. And then we hide our dead behind iron walls and leave them to the thorns and ivy. We lose them twice over, Lucy. Death’s not the worst of it. We turn our faces away.

Lockwood didn’t speak until everything was quiet again. “I know you’re worrying about me, Luce,” he said. “But you really mustn’t. These things happen when you’re an agent. You’ve been snared by ghosts in the past, haven’t you? There was the one that made the bloody footprints, and the thing in the tunnels below the Aickmere Brothers store. But it’s fine, because I helped you then, and you’ve helped me now. We’re there to help each other. If we do that, we’ll get through.” Which was a lovely thi

But ghosts aren't white and bright. Ghosts are shadows of someone or something gone wrong.

A high-pitched sound, like steam escaping from a kettle whistles through the dark room. But nobody’s making tea. We both turn toward the source of the eerie noise.A weak stream of unearthly light seeps through the window near the corner of the room and pours onto the floor. Its consistency seems to lie somewhere between a liquid and a solid, like mercury, only blue. Out of the gleaming, wobbly puddle, a phosphorescent vapor rises up. The ghost we thought was Daniel materializes and looms over us

When I look up from my book, the wind has gained its full voice. This storm is the mad child of Father Time and Mother Nature. Wailing away in no predictable rhythm, their monstrous offspring’s throwing a hackle-raising temper tantrum. Underscoring the hideous howl, I detect another, quieter sound, a pitiable, weak whimper which has been all but completely drowned out by the epic volume of the screaming wind. With slowly dawning terror, I realize this cowardly voice is my own; escaping through t

Do you still believe that I am only a dream?"-Alastor

Whose are all these ghosts?” she said, smiling at a flustered-looking Geraldine. “Oh,” said Geraldine, “I think they might be mine...?

...she knew, with all her heart that running away from the country’s top relationship coach was as good as saying, 'there’s no hope for me, ever'!

It’s not the dead people you got to worry about… It’s the living that are scary.

Unless the she-wolf agrees, there’s always a chance of rejection.

Zorro pulled her into his arms and crushed her against his body, kissing her soundly on the mouth. “My, what a big sword you have, sir,” she said, sweeping her hand over his sheathed sword. “I’m fully armed,” he said, “with that and more.

Brett will need some clothes if someone can drop some by.” “All we need is a bear rug,” Meghan said.

She was thinking she needed to post a letter in the Lonely Hearts column in the Silver Town Gazette: She-wolf seeking male wolf who believes in ghosts. No others need apply.

Did you look up 'incubus'?" Ren asked, in her ear. She heard a smile in his voice."Yes. Let's see, 'a lascivious spirit supposed to have sexual intercourse with women in their sleep,' if I remember right.""There. And you thought it wasn't possible. It's common enough they actually had to make up a word for it.""Well, if you've been doing that, then you must have been discreet, because I sure haven't noticed.""It's not my preferred method," he said. "I always wake them up first.

I realized my sorrow, the regret of a restless, doomed spirit, rang in my voice. For the first time I wondered if my fate was to helplessly watch violence until I became as mad as the men who committed the murders.

You sure you don't want me to come over? We could make a snowman in the garden, or one in front of the hotel for the guests' arrival tomorrow. Or we could build snow forts and have a snowball fight. Surefire way to wear you out and make you sleepy. Then we could have cocoa with marshmallows on top. And I've been dying to have a piece of that seven-layer chocolate cake. I can't quit thinking about it.

She ran her hand over his cock and said, "This is the only thing I ever want to come between us." His grin couldn't have stretched any further.

We’re going down to the Margarita Grill to smell the lobster, then we’re going to watch the sunrise, and in between we’ll probably have hot, unsafe animal sex.

I didn't sleep well last night because one of my ghosts came back, haunting with his presence, and when I woke up, the others weren't here, haunting with their memory.

the flicker of a memoryis all we can cling tofor our cherished ghostsFrom "Cat Paws on a Windscreen

Fear no more as long as her memory surrounds you like a ghost…cry no more as long as she weeps for you like a willow.

He was smiling that smile I truly loved.

The people you love become ghosts inside of you, and like this you keep them alive.

Modernity kills ghostly romance("The Undying Thing")

No one will say it to my face, but it’s so obvious they think I actually murdered Gavin. As if I would actually want to hurt the guy I was in love with. Still, I see it in their eyes, the way they avoid crossing my path as if I’ll snap and go after them next. I hear it in their accusatory whispers that fill the hallways as I pass by. The signs that I’m generally considered guilty are everywhere.

Xypher flashed himself into Simone's bedroom, expecting to find her there.It was empty.Closing his eyes, he sensed for presences in the condo. There no Simone, but Jesse and Gloria in Jesse's room.Without thinking, he flashed in there to find the two ghosts naked on the bed. "Oh g-ds, I'm blind." He spun around to give them his back."Don't you knock?" Jesse said.

It's a damn shame that when I finally fall in love that it had to be after I died." He dropped his head and shut his eyes.Oh, mylanta. Did he just say what I think he did?He looked back up at me, taking my breath. "What are we gonna do?"I knew what I was gonna do—hyperventilate.