Quotes about haunted

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

I am haunted by my past and by what I must do to ensure my future.

That’s the last time I put you in charge of the tequila when we’re making margaritas

To live is to be haunted.

She had said he had been driven away from her by a dream,--and there was no answer one could make her--there seemed to be no forgiveness for such a transgression.And yet is not mankind itself, pushing on its blind way, driven by a dream of its greatness and its power upon the dark paths of excessive cruelty and of excessive devotion. And what is the pursuit of truth, after all?

And yet is not mankind itself, pushing on its blind way, driven by a dream of its greatness and its power upon the dark paths of excessive cruelty and of excessive devotion. And what is the pursuit of truth, after all?

To be haunted is to glimpse a truth that might best be hidden.

I missed you, Angel. Not one day went by that I didn't feel you missing from my life. You haunted me to the point that I began to believe Hank had gone back on his oath and killed you. I couldn't escape you and I didn't want to. You tortured me, but it was better than losing you.

He stood in a room, looking around, seeing thousands of himself. He banged the walls made of mirrors, but they wouldn't break. Thier laugh filled his heart and with fear, he curled up and sat there. And then She came out of nowhere and wrapped her arm around him. She held his hand, together they got up and walked towards a wall. He raised his head and looked at the reflections, but all he saw there was only him. She turned and smiled at him and touched the wall. It cracked and shattered into pie

unheard and unseen { protected } from the vision of whatwe would look cute togetherreally means words do{ lie } amongst thelol’s and just kiddings{ hearts } lay awakedreaming nightmares of unicorns disguised as demonschase away{ hope } causing it to remain

This is glorious!' I cried, and then i looked at the sinner by my side. He sat with his head sunk on his breast and said 'Yes', without raising his eyes, as if afraid to see writ large on the clear sky of the offing the reproach of his romantic conscience.

Grace, who haunted my thoughts when I couldn’t dream

Night-time is being brushed aside like so much cobweb. The day is wound up and begins even before the last haunted dreams, the last of the fog, those spectral and evanescent residues, have faded away.

These were people who hunted for a way to erase the haunted, malnourished gaze from their souls and replace it with their faith in freedom and safety.

Yaicha is named after a songby some group from the last century called thePousette-Dart Band.Something about a girl, a candle in the falling rain shining amidst the pain.I kind of surprise myselfwhen I can picture Yaicha as that candle.My father named Yaicha after the "haunting melody."I wonder if he ever listenedto the lyrics.

A month ago, Gavin had given his employer four weeks' notice. "I'll get a job around here," he'd told her. "Something low-stress, part-time, maybe. We're not paying rent, and Dad's left us plenty. You should quit, too." A year earlier this news would have filled her with delicious, full fat, chocolate-coated joy. But now, after a grueling routine of shitty work, shitty- weird home life in a house where the shadow of a dead boy walked more solidly than the grownups, shitty headaches, shitty worry

Mrs Hargreaves liked her job and she liked the Hoopers. As far as she was concerned there was far too much twaddle being talked about Glade Hall, by people with too much time on their hands.“Over fertile imaginations.” She’d told the new head gardener.Some of the locals had worked for the hotel and told stories of seeing shadows around the grounds, when the light was just right. As if shadows could hurt anyone ! It was all twaddle and nonsense.

Since her time in the necromancer’s clutches, she was still recovering lost memories from the quicksand of her mind. They’d drop like nuclear bombs, freezing her at the worst time as visuals which should’ve stayed forever buried bubbled to the surface.

So much time spent believingwe had ghosts in our machines has accustomed us to hauntingourselves.

She herself is a haunted house. She does not possess herself; her ancestors sometimes come and peer out of the windows of her eyes and that is very frightening. She has the mysterious solitude of ambiguous states; she hovers in a no-man’s land between life and death, sleeping and waking.

A scene should be selected by the writer for haunted-ness-of-mind interest. If you're not haunted by something, as by a dream, a vision, or a memory, which are involuntary, you're not interested or even involved.

It waited for her. Standing resolute in the moonlight, it had stood for a hundred years. Yet it waited just for her. Shadows passed across the moon, a cool breeze ruffled the leaves around it. Yet still it waited for her. Ancient tombs glowed in shimmery moonlight,row upon row of cold silent witnesses.

Darkness lingered in those blue eyes, like ghosts haunted him despite only the two of them standing in this cabin.

You make me crazy in all the best ways, woman. You always have. I’m only me when I’m with you.

He was so big he made my sofa seem more like a loveseat. He was so at ease with himself and his body that I found it hard to reconcile him with the awkward teenager that had stolen my heart. He was so fucking beautiful, it took my breath away.

Have you come to return my pussy?” I shook my head, sure the reception must be bad. “Huh?” “My cat. You stole my cat yesterday. Have you come to return him?

You’re off the bed again,” he growled at me, in a deep sexy tone that went right to the ache between my thighs that had been growing since he’d knocked on my door. “It’s your fault,” I told him, leaning back to look in his eyes. “I can’t keep my hands off of you. I don’t want to. I’ve waited forever to touch you like this.

Come in! come in !’ he sobbed.‘Cathy, do come. Oh do -once more! Oh! my heart’s darling! hear me this time - Catherine, at last!

He stroked her back and kept a fierce grip on her like she’d fade away into one of the thousands of ghosts in this cemetery.

I turned to him and he reached for my hand. It would have been easier to walk away. But the wind still blew around us and the house still stood.

No. No… No!’ the fear ebbed my voice, cut through me like a knife. I ran, bare feet slipping and sliding over the floorboards. I turned the corner and headed for the backdoor.Run. Run. I must run.As soon as I reached the backdoor in the kitchen, pulling the barn door from the hinges, I felt his gaze upon me. Cinders and kindling crunched at my feet; what had once been my lovely mahogany kitchen furniture was now little more than firewood. My crockery and china splintered in shards and as I turne

If she opened the closet with her skeletons, they might drag her in with them.

The ghost stories were fascinating, made even more so by the personal connection between the living and the long-departed. The ghosts seemed content to be there. The truly amazing part of the story, however, was how happy the owner and staff of the inn were with their spirits. It made me want to stay there… and perhaps never leave.

Nature is a haunted house--but Art--is a house that tries to be haunted.

It waited for her. Standing resolute in the moonlight, it had stood for a hundred years. Yet it waited just for her. Shadows passed across the moon, a cool breeze ruffled the leaves around it. Yet still it waited for her. Ancient tombs glowed in shimmery moonlight, row upon row of cold silent witnesses.

The one plus side to demonic infestation is that children cannot be harmed by a demon. The sanctified aura of a child somehow repels the demon and they can only oppress them if the parent makes a contract allowing them to do so. Because they can be very clever in tricking people into agreeing to additional contracts, it is important to never converse with a demon. Either call in a priest or move out as soon as possible.

If the living are haunted by the dead, then the dead are haunted by their own mistakes.

Since you can't touch me, you made something that could, didn't you?" I said."Yes."My world slowed and I closed my eyes. "I am going yo give you my heart noe," I whispered. "Please don't break it again.

I first witnessed the paranormal at the tender age of eight. This experience unlocked a doorway to a world full of unexplained mysteries, miraculous insights, and terrifying ghostly visits that have spanned a lifetime. Join me as I explore these stories…one book at a time.” ~L. Sydney Fisher

Maybe these whole woods are haunted with crushed girl ghosts and that's what I'm hearing. They're coming to check me out, make sure I'm cool. Which I'm not, so they'll be disappointed.

The initial trauma of a young child may go underground but it will return to haunt us.

I have been both a ghost and haunted in the city I love.

His ghost comes back to be remembered. If he can’t be in this life, he procures a way to stay in orbit, and in that way, is never forgotten.

Charleston is an extraordinary place. There is a deep connection between the residents and nearly three hundred and fifty years of history, and those ties between daily life and the distant past are strengthened by the occasional glimpse beyond the veil.

Libraries are full of ghosts, books being the most haunted things of all.

This whole goddam house stinks of ghosts. I don’t mind so much being haunted by a dead ghost, but I resent like hell being haunted by a half-dead one.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’ll wake up with sweat drenching my chest and think it’s the blood and muck I was covered in that night.

...that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn’t know who I was—I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I’d never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn’t know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my

Although terrifying, the evil ghost will probably pose no real danger to you or your family. On the other hand, if you have a demonic infestation, your entire household is in very real danger. A demonic entity will not usually confront you or induce you to flee the home. Because, unlike the evil ghost, the demon does not actually want you to leave. On the contrary, it wants you to stick around so it can destroy your life and sully your soul from the inside.

These were the things we would never notice were missing.

The diamonds glinted under the glare of the chandelier and they looked like a thousand spider eyes

The chandelier was wearing on its rubber support and the crack at the side of the ceiling hold was getting bigger. “One day that’s going to fall on us and spear you through the heart,” he said. I turned to kiss him on the shoulder and closed my eyes.

In the dark behind the glare of the television, like a mannequin behind it, I could see a silhouette and it wasn’t moving. It was maybe six foot high with its shoulders hunched and I blinked to make sure it was real. The TV fuzzed grey and white and black and I had a lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow away. “Rory” I whispered. Clawing out gently beneath the duvet cover, reaching for his hand. But I couldn’t find it. And he didn’t answer.

The scratching came from the attic. At night, when Rory turned out the light I would lie awake and wait for it to skit, skit, skit lightly across the floorboards above our heads and down behind the water pipes.

When she first saw him, she took him for a ghost. His jet-black hair fluttered in the breeze as he walked, letting her see his eyes. They seemed haunted, lost in some way. He was tall and gaunt, starkly pale in his black clothes. He was the very picture of Anton, even sharing his world-weary eyes of deepest blue. She could hardly look away from this apparition, an echo of all the memories and dreams that had haunted her these many years.

A moment of silence settled over all of them. Then Velva broke it. “We are the hunter and the haunter, the haunted and hunted.…”“But for what purpose?” asked Sir Sun.“It is all for the same purpose, Timothy.  The empty that wish to be full.

I am stupid, am I not? What more can I want? If you ask them who is brave--who is true--who is just--who is it they would trust with their lives?--they would say, Tuan Jim. And yet they can never know the real, real truth....

When Olivier had been taken away Gamache had sat back down and stared at the sack. what could be worse than Chaos, Despair, War?What would even the Mountain flee from? Gamache had given it a lot of thought.What haunted people even, perhaps especially, on their deathbed? What chased them, tortured them and brought some of them to their knees? And Gamache thought he had the answer.Regret. Regret for things said, for things done, and not done. Regret for the people they might have been. And failed

I just can’t do it anymore. It’s too painful. It doesn’t mean I’m over you, it means I’m not going to waste the rest of my life being haunted by your memory.

Why weren't we born in the same era?" he lamented. She eased past him neither here nor there, looked over her shoulder and whispered, "How mundane and cliche would that be?

She says, "I'll swear by the rose tattooed on my ass, that old man raped me."Here, the funeral parade stops. At this point, Comrade Snarky is a victim among victims. The rest of us — just her supporting cast.Mrs. Clark, leading us, she looks back and says, "He what?"And from behind his camera, Agent Tattletale says, "Me, too. He raped me first."Saint Gut-Free says, "Well what the hell...He poked me, too."As if poor skinny Saint Gut-Free had enough ass left to poke.And Mrs. Clark says, "This is n

Dreaming men are haunted men.

You're crazy,' I say.'Aye,' Logan says. 'Crazy about you.

Logan lowers his head close to mine. 'Just know this, Ivy Calhhoun,' he begins. 'If I werena a ghost I would open all door for you, properly.

We are all haunted. Some more than others. We are all hurt in our own unique ways. But whatever happened to us, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You’ll be fine. Just never forget that you are not what happened to you. You are who you choose to become.

So you're gone and i'm hauntedAnd i bet you are just fineDid i make it that easy to walkRight in and out of my life

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.

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

..., 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?

Ghost Hampton" took me years to write -- but it won't take you that long to read!

Showmen's Rest was truly something to behold. Throughout the entire yard, statues and carvings of elephants, clowns, and tight-rope walkers danced on the gray and white surfaces of tombstones and grave-markers. For the first time, Michael got the feeling that the men and women who'd been buried there were probably really happy with their final resting place. It was a touching tribute, one that honored their passion in life and that had been constructed out of love and respect.

It took a pair of ghosts to open my eyes.

Calm down. Ghosts don’t ring the doorbell.

When we feel haunted, it is the pull of our own home we're experiencing, but a more upsetting possibility is that the past has become homeless, and we are offering it a place to inhabit in the present.

I stood on the street, staring up at the most normal-looking house in the world. My house. I'd lived there my entire life. It was home. It was safe.It was haunted.The only other explanation was that I was demented. I couldn't say which I was rooting for.

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

I now know how your angercame from skeletonsthat rattled in your heartand you couldn't escape them.

She'll tell you this house is haunted, but I believe the truth of the matter is that people get haunted. Not places.' - Will Laughlin

One need not be a chamber to be haunted,One need not be a house;The brain has corridors surpassingMaterial place.Far safer, of a midnight meetingExternal ghost,Than an interior confrontingThat whiter host.Far safer through an Abbey gallop,The stones achase,Than, moonless, one's own self encounterIn lonesome place.Ourself, behind ourself concealed,Should startle most; Assassin, hid in our apartment,Be horror's least.The prudent carries a revolver,He bolts the door,O'erlooking a superior spectreMo

There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.There are worse things than these miniature betrayals,committed or endured or suspected; there are worse thingsthan not being able to sleep for thinking about them.It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking inand stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse.

But walking through it all was one thing; walking away, unfortunately, has proved to be quite another, and though once I thought I had left that ravine forever on an April afternoon long ago, now I am not so sure. Now the searchers have departed, and life has grown quiet around me, I have come to realize that while for years I might have imagined myself to be somewhere else, in reality I have been there all the time: up at the top by the muddy wheel-ruts in the new grass, where the sky is dark o

I have only to glance over my shoulder for all those years to drop away and I see it behind me again, the ravine, rising all green and black through the saplings, a picture that will never leave me.

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.

So I'm up the ghostie creek without an EMF meter

Seth: "I write of love in my novels, write of it well, if my critics and fans are to be believed, but in all of my years at that typewriter, I never found the combination of words that would convey how I felt about you. You were my everything.

Despite the way she rallied, the haunted look in her eyes was enough to break him, as lost and lonely as an abandoned child’s.

I will not exorcise you—I’d miss your fragrance, the soft tread of your step on the stair

The splendor of that moment, its transcendent glory and aliveness, haunted him. He could thrust it aside by day, but it poisoned his dreams by night, calling to him and pleading with him to unlock the chains he'd bound about it.