Quotes about horror-fiction

Too often people mistake monsters for gods.

Tom Farrell had always wished Hell on his boss. On New Years Eve... Hell sent someone.-Along For The Ride-

If you work in The Dark, you MUST live in The Light.

Whose Daddy's Little Girl Now?

Raven shook her head more violently and opened her mouth, a loud shriek filled the room and Amari realised what was about to happen, she ducked down and wrapped her arms around her head, just as the mirror shattered over her

Where do I go from here? She thought to herself.Truth was, it didn’t matter.She had a new beginning.

I stared down at my hands and saw the blood coat them, how warm and real something felt when it wasn’t just ink and stains. This was life and I was holding it in my hands. I drew my eyes back up and beneath the flickering streetlight and the throng of drunken cattle, I saw nothing else but the dead girl. Somebody out there had taken her life, her heart, and there I was with her warm, sticky blood. Feeling the most alive I’d felt in years.I had to find him. I just had to.

You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me, and still come with me.

Such is the great nature of man, it resides the true face beneath a glittering masquerade.

It had not hurt his hands at all and the sudden release of energy, twinned with Dom's fall, gave him a sudden lunatic rush of euphoria.

Oh so we are neighbours?” She tried to smile sweetly, so Maggie felt like she could talk more. Maggie shrugged again, “Not for long.” Amari got goosebumps and asked, “Oh why? Where are you guys moving too?” Maggie looked at her again and said stoically, “No where.

If I become like you, I will have no will of my own. I will have no individuality, I will just be your puppet.’'True.’ Sio smiled thinly. 'But even a puppet may dance before its strings are drawn tight. You will dance, Cass, and the heavens will applaud you.

The mind is a thing capable of destroying itself when deep grief sets in, and when left alone to muse over one’s misery, the most irreparable damage can be done. You need people to heal.

The corridor didn't seem long enough to contain so much blackness.'Passing Through Peacehaven

When he shut himself in his apartment he found that he hoped he was waiting for nothing at all.

As soon as Todd drove off the motorway it vanished from the mirror, and so did the sun across the moor.

My original intent was to write a horror story about someone who loses his mind and slowly begins to unravel. The story, as I envisioned it, would evoke horror within the context of psychological decay, entropy.

The city had grown, implacably, spreading its concrete and alloy fingers wider every day over the dark and feral country. Nothing could stop it. Mountains were stamped flat. Rivers were dammed off or drained or put elsewhere. The marshes were filled. The animals shot from the trees and then the trees cut down. And the big gray machines moved forward, gobbling up the jungle with their iron teeth, chewing it clean of its life and all its living things.Until it was no more. Leveled, smoothed as a h

My whole life changed after I drowned and died in the flood.

No amount of therapy can replace the joy of revenge writing.

Only a few can survive and face reality without a vice.

I believe,' Muswell once said, 'that mental isolation is the essence of weird fiction. Isolation when confronted with disease, with madness, with horror and with death. These are the reverberations of the infinity that torments us.("The White Hands")

I told you. I’ve been watching.” She twirled, her arms outstretched. “Watching, watching, watching.

No one will ever write a horror novel as scary as reading about my symptoms on WebMD.

He got up and ran on, pitching himself down the hill, flying through the branches of the firs, leaping roots and rocks without seeing them. As he went, the hill got steeper and steeper, until it was really like falling. He was going too fast and he knew when he came to a stop, it would involve crashing into something, and shattering pain.Only as he went on, picking up speed all the time, until with each leap he seemed to sail through yards of darkness, he felt a giddy surge of emotion, a sensati

Carroll was eleven years old when he saw The Haunting in The Oregon Theater. He had gone with his cousins, but when the lights went down, his companions were swallowed by the dark and Carroll found himself essentially alone, shut tight into his own suffocating cabinet of shadows. At times, it required all his will not to hide his eyes, yet his insides churned with a nervous-sick frisson of pleasure. When the lights finally came up, his nerve endings were ringing, as if he had for a moment grabbe

An old adage warns: If you don't know your history, you will be forever condemned to repeat it. Likewise, if you don't know your science fiction, and heed its warnings, you could condemn the Earth to future catastrophe.

illustration Speaking before the Marion Hobby Club Marion, OH 2013 This writer is looking for an agent.An old adage warns: If you don't know your history, you will be forever condemned to repeat it. Likewise, if you don't know your science fiction, and heed its warnings, you could condemn the Earth to future catastrophe.

Evil should not be, Detective Vera. Truly never can be. But in defining it as such, an inherent human bond with negativity confirms its very existence. Its mere acknowledgement cancels its credibility. Evil is nothing—the lack of anything of substance— made concrete as a balance to everything else. Evil is not, yet it is a part ofeach human, because humans welcome its participation in their lives. They speak of it in anger or disgust, fear or even wonder— the most appropriate response— giving it

And I've learned to hit the brakes at these kinds of stop signs rather than t-boning a tanker truck filled with 200 proof mediocrity.

I’m haunted. We all are, I guess. We’re parentless, friendless, unloved, abandoned. The spirits of our deceased emotional anchors and proofs of existence will follow and demean us until we too roam a quiet lifeless world alongside them — unable to speak — our histories written in beach sand.

If one could only discover the unwritten bases of black magic and apply formulae to them, we would find that they were merely another form of science... perhaps less advance, perhaps more.